Batman Begins AU
by adm-frb
Summary: What happens when Alfred Pennyworth becomes the legal guardian of his great-niece Mindy MacCready aka Hit-Girl after her father Damon MacCready/Big Daddy is killed by Frank D'Amico.
1. Prologue

_Batman_ and all related characters are trademarks of DC Comics and copyright of Bob Kane, DC Comics and Warner Bros. Entertainment, Inc.

_Kick-Ass_ and all related characters are trademarks of Mark Miller though Millerworld Limited, Marvel Entertainment, and John S. Romita.

No infringements intended. And this story must not be sold for profit etc.

**Batman Begins AU ( A Batman/Kick-Ass Crossover)**

**Prologue**

"Wayne Residence," Alfred Pennyworth said instinctively answering the phone, a little surprised that he'd get a call twice in the space of a few minutes. He gave a shake of his head, knowing it was either his friend and master, Bruce Wayne, calling to tell him something he'd forgotten about, which he admitted was highly unlikely, or it was some unknown person in India trying to sell him something he didn't want from a company right here in America.

"_Mister__ Pennyworth?_" an unfamiliar voice asked. "_I'm__ Sergeant__ Marcus__ Williams__ with __the__ New__ York__ Police__ Department.__Are__ you __aware __that __your __great-niece,__ Melinda __Macready,__ was __orphaned __about__ two__ months __ago._"

"What happened?" he asked, remembering the the young girl he'd met briefly during a short holiday a couple years back.

"_We're__ not__ entirely__ sure,_" Williams admitted. "_But __we __suspect __it __might __have __been __drugs __or __gang __related. __Shortly __before __Mindy __was __born...__" _Alfred listened as Williams told him about how her father had once been a cop until he'd been false convicted of drug related offences after attempting to take down one of the biggest crime bosses in New York. He'd been eventually cleared, but that had been done posthumously. "_He__ got__ involved __in__ vigilante__ justice __and __a__ little__ over __his __head. __For __the __moment__ I've __got __temporary __custody __of__ his__ daughter, __but __that__ won't__ last__ long. __My __job __means__ that __I__ can't __be__ there__ for__ her __at __all__ times __and __she'd __eventually __get __placed __into __foster __care __by __child__ services. __I'd __rather __that __didn't __happen._"

"I take it," Alfred stated. "That I'm her only living relative and that I've been granted custody rights."

"_Not __her __only __relative,_" Willams answered. "_But __the __only __one __child __services __knows __can __look __after __her. __Your __record __with __Bruce __Wayne __is __exemplary._"

_Oh__ bugger,_ Alfred mentally swore._ I'm __going __to __be __a__ little __late __picking __up __Master __Wayne_. "Sergeant Williams," Alfred reached for a memo pad, jotting down a quick reminder. "Where's Miss Macready right now?"

"_I've __got __her __right __here __with __me __at __the __station. __Why?_"

"I've got to pick up my employer from Kathmandu. Can you have her and her possessions at JFK in two hours?"

"_Where!_?" the sounds of typing increased briefly. No doubt, Alfred assumed the cop was doing a search on the internet.

O-O-O

It had been two days since Bruce Wayne had contacted Alfred and began following his instructions; making his way to an unpaved landing strip in Kathmandu. The only structures were a small corrugated steel shed at the far end and a windsock atop a relatively tall pole. A dot emerged from clouds in the eastern sky, quickly growing larger and resolving into the shape of a small plane. In mere moments, the plane had landed and taxied to a stop. It was a gleaming Wayne Enterprises Gulfstream G550 business jet.

He ran towards it, as it's exit opened up and a small set of steps thudded down to the partially maintained tarmac. Alfred, immaculately dressed in a pressed tweed suit, descended and approached Bruce who stopped just before him. "Master Wayne, you've been gone a long time."

Bruce grinned. "Yes, yes I have."

It had been seven years since Bruce had seen Alfred Pennyworth and left America as a stowaway aboard a cargo ship. In many ways Bruce was no longer the same person. His experiences living on the streets, stealing to survive, being held in a brutal Asian prison and training with the League of Shadows had changed him. But, he still felt a wave of familiar intense affection for the courtly Englishman who stood before him.

Alfred looked him over. Scanning him from head to toe. Bruce knew what he was seeing. A greasy long black haired, bearded man in filthy black rags. "You look rather fashionable," Alfred quipped. "Apart from the dried blood."

Something caught Bruce's eyes. He glanced up at the entryway into the jet. Poking her head nervously out of the jet entrance was the head of a young blonde girl, hair tied back in a pair of pigtails, maybe about ten years old watching them talk. She gave the impression of just being a nervous and slightly shy, but her blue eyes said otherwise. They were intelligent watchful, keeping both himself and Alfred under observation. She'd probably also heard every word. "Who's the girl?"

"My great niece," Alfred told him turning back towards the jet with Bruce in tow. "I've just been given custody."

"What happened?" Bruce asked, watching as the girl's head disappeared quickly as she realised the two were heading towards the jet.

Quickly, scampering back into her seat, Mindy Macready tried to look as though she'd never left her seat as her great-uncle led Bruce Wayne into the jet. Only pausing to bring up the steps and secure the hatch as the engines revved.

She took the moment to have another glance round the plane as Alfred and Mister Wayne took their seats. Each facing one another with Alfred next to herself allowing her to sit next to the window. Its interior was well appointed, featuring many things in common with the plane Frank D'Amico had once owned. Plush leather seats – thankfully not a garish orange, but a pleasant off-white cream colour – padded bulkheads and a first rate food service. She hadn't spotted it yet, but if it was like Frank's plane, it probably also had a small arms locker.

In the moment it took her to look around then return her gaze to her fellow passengers, the plane had become airborne. It was then she noticed it. "What the fuck is that smell?" Almost immediately she placed her hand over mouth, feeling her cheeks flush. Next to her, Alfred paused in mid-action as he handed a glass of orange juice to Bruce. He just looked at her, then glanced at Bruce.

"Out of the mouths of children," Alfred stated, his expression a mix of disapproval and humour. Handing the glass to Bruce, he sat back down. "Bruce Wayne, allow me to introduce my great-niece Melinda Macready. Melinda Macready, Bruce Wayne."

"Pleasure," Bruce said, reaching up to the overhead AC unit. First waving some of the smelly air at her, making her wince then directing the blower at her, giving her a gust of fresher air. "Call me Bruce."

"If you call me Mindy," she stated, getting very interested in the view out the window."

"She's right though, you do need to clean up before we reach Gotham." Alfred said, before taking in a deep breath. "You coming back for good?"

Bruce took a sip of his orange juice. "As long as it takes. He gave Mindy a glance. "I'm going to show Gotham that the city doesn't belong to the criminals or the corrupt."

Alfred leaned back in his chair. "You know, during the depression, your father nearly bankrupted Wayne Enterprises combating poverty. He believed that his example would inspire the wealthy of Gotham to save their city."

"Did it?"

"In a way... Your parents' murder shocked the wealthy and powerful into action."

Mindy looked at Bruce, a familiar sad expression on her face. He didn't say anything, didn't have too. Bruce wore the same expression when his parents had been killed. Silently, he wondered how her parents were killed. He'd learn in due time. Bruce gave her a nod. "People need dramatic examples to shake them out of their apathy. I can't do this as Bruce Wayne. A man is just flesh and blood; he can be ignored or destroyed. But a _symbol_... as a symbol I can be everlasting, incorruptible."

Mindy, he saw now had his full attention, taking in his every word. Somehow, he was sure, Mindy knew what he was talking about. "Like a disguise, another persona." Mindy supplied.

"What symbol?" Alfred asked.

"I'm not sure," Bruce admitted. "Something elemental, something terrifying."

"I assume, sir, that as you're taking on the criminal underworld, that this 'symbol' – persona as Mindy put it – will be something to protect those you care about from reprisals."

"You're thinking of Rachel?" Bruce nodded again.

"Actually," Alfred said seriously. "I was thinking of myself and Mindy. Her mother, my niece, died shortly after she was born. Her father to vigilantism when he underestimated a major New York crime boss and got himself killed... live on the internet I might add."

"You saw it?" Bruce looked at Mindy, silently wincing. He knew Alfred wouldn't have mentioned it if she hadn't known.

Mindy just nodded.

He looked back Alfred. "Have you told anyone I'm coming back?"

Alfred shook his head. "I haven't yet figured out the legal ramifications of bringing you back from the dead."

"Dead?" Bruce blinked. "You had me declared dead?"

"You were gone seven years," Alfred explained. "No phone call, no letter, not one sighting." Alfred wasn't angry, at least not at him. More like disappointed, just as was with Mindy's cussing. "Actually, it wasn't me." Alfred resumed. "It was Mister Earle. He liquidated your majority shareholdings and went public. It gave the company quite a bit of capital."

"Wow," Mindy said, sounding slightly sarcastic, but in a friendly way. "Never thought I'd meet a real life Jesus Christ."

Bruce shook his head, silently wondering about the sanity of Alfred's relatives "Just as well I left everything to you, Alfred."

"Quite so, sir," Alfred leaned back closing his eyes. "You can borrow the Rolls, if you like. Just make sure you bring it back with a full tank."

Leaning back in her seat, Mindy placed the expensive headphones over her ears. Switching on her mp3 player, she let the sounds of her favourite song 'Banana Splits' roll over her wondering if her father would have liked the billionaire Bruce Wayne. She fought back a tear as she remembered his fiery end. If what she'd googled on the internet about Gotham City was true, then it made New York look like Disneyland when it came to crime.

She wanted to put Hit-Girl behind her – the persona had served its purpose – and she knew Marcus did too. Yet, she could still remember what Kick-Ass, Dave Lizewski, had said to her about why he'd helped her take down Frank D'Amico: "With no power, comes no responsibility... except that wasn't true." It struck a chord with her; bless the big hearted comic book geek lacking the sense to know when he was in over his head. But, it also went hand-in-hand with something her father used to say about why she and her father did what they did: "Evil wins when good people do nothing."

That was why Bruce Wayne wanted to do what he was planning. He couldn't do it alone, he'd need help. But knowing how to do it was one thing, actually doing it was something else entirely. He was going to need the help of someone who'd done it before and, Mindy knew, it was going to be fucking hard. Marcus had arranged for her father's arsenal to be confiscated, leaving only the smaller arsenals at the three safe-houses he didn't know about. All she had were her pair of Benchmade Model 42 butterfly knifes, the last present she'd ever gotten from her father, and a single Heckler & Koch USP Compact – 9x19mm with a couple clips of ammunition; Marcus had let her have them because he'd read the same things about Gotham she had.

Some of the the things, she was going to need would have to be purchased new which meant accessing her hidden three million dollars. The rest she'd get Dave to FedEx her if possible. One thing was certain, Hit-Girl was about to hit the streets of Gotham.

The plane refuelled once that day, and twice more before it reached Gotham City, just as the golden morning light began to hit it's tall spires. The view reminded Mindy of her and Dave's flight through the sky of New York on the morning after they'd dealt with Frank D'Amico. She smiled, looking down at the place that was to be her home, wondering just what Gotham had in store for her. If only she knew how similar her thoughts were to Bruce's.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter 1**

**Three days later...**

Mindy Macready awoke the instant Alfred Pennyworth pulled open the curtains of the bedroom she'd been given in Wayne Manor. The early afternoon sun shone brightly across the room and onto the admittedly very comfortable bed she'd been sleeping in.

Mindy blinked and stretched. "Morning."

"Morning?" Alfred questioned. "Young Madam, it is one o'clock in the afternoon. And, that is pushing it for a girl of your age. Usually only teenagers sleep in this late. Why even when Master Wayne was your age he was up practically at the crack of dawn." Alfred shook his head.

"It's the weekend," Mindy stated as blandly as she could, watching as Alfred picked up a tray from the sideboard and placed it on the bedside table. On it was the traditional Full English breakfast of sausages, bacon, fried eggs, black pudding, baked beans, hash browns and half a tomato; about the only thing missing was the fried mushrooms. Reaching out, she picked the large glass of orange juice, and drinking it down in a single gulp. "What?" Mindy asked, taking in Alfred's bemused expression.

"Nothing," Alfred replied with a slight smile as Mindy began to get into her breakfast. "I'm just glad that someone is eating their breakfast. Master Wayne refused to eat his this morning. Said all he wanted was a protein shake and a glass of orange juice."

Mindy had to smile at that. It was what both she and her dad used to have for breakfast, at least until he was killed and Marcus got temporary custody of her. Then breakfast had become cereal and milk. "That's what me and my dad used to have for breakfast."

"I'm sorry for what happened to your parents," Alfred's smile faded as he remembered what Master Wayne had been like after his parents had been murdered. Mindy thought he was going to say more, but he was cut off by the sound of knocking on the door.

Mindy paused in her eating to look at the door. "Come in," she said, mentally shaking her head wondering what was with their fucking over politeness. Maybe it was just the British style of upbringing Wayne had gotten from Alfred, or it might just have been the way her dad had changed from his time in prison. Silently, almost sadly, she wondered what her life would have been like if her dad hadn't been framed and sent to prison.

Bruce Wayne stuck his head through the doorway, his eyes carefully scanning the room before looking at her bed. "When you're done with breakfast, I was wondering if you could join me in the library. There's some things I need to talk to you about."

Mindy inwardly blanched at the request. The expression on Bruce's face was the same one Marcus had worn when he'd found the broken down pieces of an M-4 Carbine assault rifle hidden inside the large stuffed teddy bear he'd given her when she'd moved temporarily into his house. "Nothing to worry about," Alfred reassured her. "I think he just wants to talk about the YouTube video."

She sighed inwardly slightly more relieved. In all honesty, she wasn't too bothered if Bruce Wayne found out she was Hit-Girl. But, on the other hand she didn't want Alfred to figure it out; he had enough on his plate worrying about Bruce's personal war against Gotham's criminal underworld. "I'll be there after I'm up and dressed." _Assuming I can find the library in this fucking museum of a house_."

Bruce seemed to know what she was thinking. "Alfred will show you where it is." With that said, he closed the door presumably to go to the library.

Finishing her breakfast, she looked at Alfred. "Do you mind leaving the room, I'd like to get dressed."

"Of course," Alfred nodded, retrieving the breakfast tray.

O-O-O

In the library, Bruce Wayne sank back into his father's old easy chair, a laptop computer Alfred had acquired from Wayne Enterprises was in front of him on the chair's accompanying footstool. He was watching the YouTube footage of the adolescent vigilante known as Hit-Girl take out several of the late Frank D'Amico's thugs in an attempt to rescue the adult vigilantes known as Big Daddy and Kick-Ass; this was the fourth viewing.

He paused the footage just as Hit-Girl raised the gun at the camera. Leaning forward, he switched it over to full screen to study the larger image. _Yes_, he thought to himself. _It is her. _He resumed the playback.

"_Show's over, motherfuckers!_" The screen went blank as Hit-Girl fired her 9mm, but the playback continued, the sound coming from from mikes the thugs had apparently wired themselves with.

There was brief sound of soft footsteps, then he heard the now weak voice of Big Daddy. "_I'm so proud of you, baby doll._" Soft mournful music began to play in the background that some user had added to the footage. "_Are you okay?_"

"_Uh huh,_" Hit-Girl replied softly. "_Getting shot, Daddy, hurt a lot more than when you did it._"

"_That's because, I used low-velocity rounds, child._" Big Daddy laughed painfully. Though the image remained blank, Bruce could picture a painful smile on Big Daddy's face.

"_You're the kindest daddy in the whole world,_" Hit-Girl said sadly.

"_I just..._" Big Daddy's voice trailed off. A moment later, he resumed. "_I love you_."

"_I love you too, Daddy_," Hit-Girl said tearfully. There was another moment of silence, then Hit-Girl spoke again for the last time before the playback came to an end. "_Sleep tight, Daddy._"

Behind him, he heard a tearful sob, "I didn't know that part got recorded," Mindy said, announcing her presence. He slowly swivelled round in the chair as he took in her casual appearance, blue jeans and pink flowery hooded top over what appeared to be a purplish t-shirt.

"How long were you standing there?" Bruce asked, feeling annoyed with himself for not noticing her presence behind him. It was a lapse that shouldn't have happened. His training with Ra's al Ghul's League of Shadow's had trained such lapses out of him. He took it as a sign to never completely let his guard down; not even here at home.

"Only a couple minutes," Mindy wiped her tears away. Knowing there was no point to hiding her alternate identity any longer. He'd been around her long enough over the past few days that he'd recognise her with the purple wig and her eye mask on; that along with the fact that Hit-Girl's voice was the same as her own made hiding it pointless. "I saw everything from the point my dad told me to go to _Robin's Revenge_."

"I'm sorry about your father," Bruce said indicating for her to take the easy chair facing him. "Do you mind, if I ask what happened?"

"We were set up," Mindy told him, taking the offered seat. "My dad, Kick-Ass and myself. Frank D'Amico's son, Chris, had disguised himself as a superhero and lured Kick-Ass into leading D'Amico's thugs to one of our safe houses and I got shot three times. I'd be dead if me and my dad weren't in character; my costume's lined with kevlar

Bruce winced. He didn't know what it was like to get shot at. But, he knew it hurt a lot and his respect for her went up several notches. "Go on,"

"After they thought they'd taken me out, I took Chris D'Amico's car – the douche had left the keys in the ignition – and proceeded to one of my father's backup safe houses and re-equipped myself for the rescue attempt. I was able to locate my dad and Kick-Ass at one the three warehouses owned by Frank D'Amico through his cell phone's GPS tracker." Mindy told him. "The rest you saw."

Bruce nodded. "Then, you and Kick-Ass went to to the D'Amico building and went after Frank D'Amico and personally took him out." Bruce watched her carefully. Mindy's expression barely changed, but as her eyes fractionally widened he knew he had guessed correctly. "So you got your revenge for your father's murder by becoming a murderer yourself."

"I'm not a fucking murderer," Mindy retorted angrily. "I didn't kill Frank D'Amico. It was Kick-Ass who fired the bazooka at him. If he hadn't, I'd be dead myself."

Bruce agreed, knowing she was telling the truth. Her anger at his accusation was proof enough of that. "No, you didn't kill Frank D'Amico, but your prior actions in the killing of his men empowered Kick-Ass to do so; that doesn't not make you a murderer. You," Bruce goaded her. "You're no better than Frank D'Amico."

"And," Mindy venomously asked. "Just what makes you think that?"

"The fact that I've been where you are now," Bruce said, allowing his voice to become softer. "My parents were murdered too, you know. I was eight when it happened..."

Mindy was shocked, she'd known something had happened to them, but she hadn't had the chance yet to find out what did happen. Mindy stayed quiet as Bruce told her of that fateful night. "So, why didn't you kill this Joe Chill?"

"Seven years ago, I was going to," Bruce admitted. "I was all set; I had the gun concealed in my right pocket of my overcoat, but one of Falcone's people got to him first – right outside the courthouse. I am glad I didn't though. If I had, I would have been no better than the man who did."

"So where'd you go for the past seven years?" Mindy asked, the anger gone from from her voice. "I mean, you basically up a disappeared."

Listening out in the corridor, Alfred was glad that Miss Macready and Master Wayne were opening up about their experiences. It horrified him no less to discover she was the girl in the video – he still couldn't believe that such a sweet looking girl as Mindy could be such a lethal killer, let alone a vigilante. He knew she'd be out there alongside Master Wayne when he actively began his grand plan; there'd probably be no way to stop her other than to knock her out. He just hoped that she could be taught that it wasn't necessary to kill every criminal in order to give justice to the people. That was something her father, biased by his feelings towards Frank D'Amico, had failed to teach her.

"So," Bruce asked, coming to the point. "Why do you want to help me?"

"Because evil wins when good people do nothing." Mindy said meaningfully. "Because you were fucking right about what you said on the plane. People do need to be reminded that where they live, whether it be New York or here in Gotham City, doesn't belong to the criminals or corrupt."

"I understand," Bruce said after a moment of thought. The way Mindy had said it was fairly simple, but it's meaning was quite clear. She intended to bring fear to those who would prey on the fearful, but she also had to learn that she couldn't be judge, jury and executioner – that was the way of the League of Shadows. "Alfred," he called out after a moment.

"Master Wayne," Alfred said, coming into the library. "You called?"

"I need you to book a couple of flights; commercial from Gotham to Chicago, then Chicago to New York." Bruce informed him. "And I'll need to borrow some cash to use as bribes. Mindy will becoming with me."

"I see you've recruited Mindy into your grand plan," Alfred said with mock annoyance.

"I doubt we could stop her," Bruce told him as Mindy rolled her eyes. "Better she join me on my terms. That way she wont be leaving a trail of corpses the police could trace right back us."

"I don't kill every crook I come across," Mindy stated defensively. "There were two survivors from my assault on the D'Amico Building."

Alfred shook his head. "Bit overcomplicated. It'd be simpler to go by train."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked as frown of confusion passed across his features. Beside him, Mindy's face lit up.

"Trains" Mindy answered for Alfred. "Don't require identification."

"Neither do domestic flights." Bruce told her.

"That's only true for _private _jets now." Mindy corrected him, the sadness and anger was quite clear in her voice. "Just after you disappeared, Nine-Eleven happened. On September Eleventh, 2001 four American Airlines planes were hijacked by Al-Qaeda terrorists. Two of them were flown into the World Trade Center, destroying the twin towers while the third was crashed into the Pentagon. Ever since, identification has been required to board any plane no matter the destination, be it domestic or international."

"You said four planes were hijacked?" Bruce asked quietly thinking of the massive loss of life.

"Yeah. It crashed just outside West Chester in Pennsylvania. No one is quite sure exactly what happened, but it is widely suspected that the passengers and cabin crew stormed the cockpit; attempting to wrest control of the plane from the hijackers. In the panic, the plane went down."

"It was one of the worst tragedies in recent history," Alfred told him. "So, as I said, it would be easier to go by train. It's only a ninety minute trip and it arrives in Grand Central Station, which as you know, and Mindy can reiterate, is in the heart of New York."

Bruce told her, explaining the research he'd begun to do on Ra's al Ghul and his League of Shadows. "There's an auction taking place at the Olympus Gallery in New York on Monday morning. A Mister Canally is selling parchments along with an accompanying translation that supposedly contains information on Ra's al Ghul. I intend to acquire those parchments."

O-O-O

At six thirty-five the next morning, Bruce and Mindy were walking through Grand Central Station, New York. Bruce could remember loving railway stations and airports as a child when he and his parents had passed through them while on vacations, en route to places like London, Paris, Hong Kong, the Caribbean Islands; it was a different destination every year, and all of them fascinating to a young boy. But this station _now..._ maybe his travels over the past seven years had changed his taste in aesthetics, or maybe it was the years he'd lived since his childhood. Whatever the reason, he found Grand Central Station, despite its beauty, at siseven-forty in the morning to be depressing. Beside him, Mindy didn't seem at all bothered, she like their fellow passengers was trudging along with her small backpack with her head bowed, seemingly to be studying her pink Nike sneakers.

_It's early_, he thought to himself. _Maybe the place gets better later in the day._

He had to admit he wasn't exactly feeling that perky himself. If there was anything he'd learnt about himself at Ra's al Ghul's monastery, it was that he was not a morning person. It wasn't a character trait like many believed, but of the body's own temporal rhythms. However, he had learnt that willpower, applied at the right moment, could best lethargy. Still, it didn't help that there was almost no public information on Ra's al Ghul or the League of Shadows. It was almost, he was quickly learning, as if they didn't want people to know they existed.

"Don't draw attention to yourself," Mindy hissed at him. "People are beginning to look."

Being careful, Bruce took a glance round himself. She was right, he'd just counted at least four people glancing them over. Taking Mindy's lead, he hunched his back slightly and bowed his head; doing everything possible to make it seem like he was fighting his way through a ferocious wind. _Should have brought an attaché case_, he silently cursed himself. _That way I'd look as if I was dragging a burden of demand, like everyone else here. _As it was, he was travelling light today with nothing but the clothes on his back and a wallet full of cash. Given that he hadn't yet announced to the world at large that he was not _dead_, he didn't have any credit cards and couldn't even access his own bank accounts, he was effectively living off of Alfred.

He and Mindy were standing in line for nearly twenty minutes before they were able to get in one of New York's famous yellow taxicabs; it was another sign that he hadn't yet readjusted to being the son of a wealthy family; a wealthy son would have had a private limousine waiting for him. "Olympus Gallery, Madison Avenue," he instructed the driver. The cab pulled away to merge into a line of vehicles, all crawling their way northward through Manhattan.

It was only after the cab turned onto Madison Avenue that Bruce actually started taking a passive interest in the surroundings, comparing them to Gotham City. On average, the buildings here were taller, but they also lacked the oppressive cavernous quality that characterised parts of Gotham's inner city. Here, sunlight actually managed to reach the ground thanks to the wider streets.

Ten minutes later, the cab pulled up outside a brownstone house, that dated back at least to the mid-eighteen hundreds. Silently, Bruce wondered, if one of his great grandfather's friends had built it. Mindy nudged him, pulling him out of his reverie. He paid the fare and they climbed the steps to the front doors. A brass plaque above the doorbell was etched with the words: OLYMPUS GALLERY.

Once inside, they were greeted by an attractive brunette in a pant-suit who handed him a catalogue printed on parchment. "Will your daughter be joining you in the auction room?"

"Yes," Bruce didn't correct her. The woman glanced Mindy over, drawing a frown from the young girl, assessing her attire. Mindy on this occasion wasn't going with her usual tomboy fashion sense; instead she'd opted for semi-casual exchanging her purple t-shirt and hooded to combination for a black short sleeved bottun-up blouse in addition to ditching her pigtails so that her blonde hair hung down her to just past the small of her back giving her the more mature appearance of a young teenage girl a couple years older than she actually was.

"This way." She'd apparently passed the assessment as the woman just harrumphed then led them down the hallway to a long, wide chamber that Bruce and Mindy could see was converted from a number of smaller rooms. The woman didn't recognise him, for which he was eminently thankful, but unsurprised at. Thomas Wayne had discouraged the paparazzi from taking photos of his family. He actually thought the last photos of him to actually get published were taken when he was eleven or twelve before he'd even reached full growth, not to mention before his features were hardened by his travels. He no longer looked like that angelic adolescent. When it came down to it, he'd been more worried about Mindy possibly being recognised from camera footage of her entry into the D'Amico building – she had said she'd destroyed the on-site recordings, but there was always the chance they might have had off-site backups – and had wanted to colour her hair to match his own and give an impression of them being related. At least the woman had thought they'd been related anyway.

The room itself was quite crowded with a wide diversity of smartly dressed men and women, most of whom were murmuring quietly to companions. Looking to the head of the room, Mindy saw that there was a raised platform and reading desk, flanked on either side by various expensive and ancient artefacts; mostly paintings and statues. There were some other stuff up there as well, but she couldn't see anything that looked like ancient documents. The subtle shake of Bruce's head told her he couldn't see them either. "They might be keeping them out of sight," she quietly suggested.

Bruce silently nodded. The brunette offered to get the two some refreshments. He asked for coffee and hot chocolate. She reappeared a minute later with the requested drinks in exquisite china cups. She told them there were more artefacts in the smaller peripheral rooms. "You might want to examine them after the auction."

"Thank you," Bruce said both for the coffee and the advice; she gave him a well rehearsed smile in return.

As she turned away, he heard Mindy curse quietly. "No marshmallows!"

At the head of the room, a tall skeletal man with thin horn-rimmed glasses and thinning brown hair ascended the platform to take his place behind the reading desk and offered them welcome.

He tapped the microphone, wincing at the sound of feedback that whined its way round the room. His eyes glanced to the statues as if they might have shattered suddenly. "Before we begin," he began. "I have some regrettable news to make. On page eleven of your catalogue..." there was the sound of paper rustling as the patrons turned to the relevant page, "...you will see an item offered by a Mister James Cavally, a series of parchments accompanied by his uncle's translation of said parchment. Unfortunately we are not able to offer this item today.

"Fuck," Mindy said quietly. Around her there were several forced coughs. She blushed a deep red in colour. She hadn't been quiet enough.

"Why not?" Someone near the front asked.

She froze in her seat. She knew that voice.

"What is it?" Bruce asked, noting Mindy's reaction."Do you recognise that voice?"

She lowered her voice even more. "That was fucking Chris D'Amico?"

Bruce looked to where Mindy was pointedly looking. The person sitting there was definitely young, possibly in his late teens or early twenties with dark hair. He was sitting beside an older tall male with greying mousey hair. He frowned realising there was something familiar about the back of that particular head.

"I regret to say," the auctioneer explained. "That Mister Cavally perished in a plane crash last night and the items in the catalogue were destroyed with him. Naturally, we wish to convey our deepest sympathies to his friends and family on his unexpected death. Now, if there are no further questions we shall begin the auction with lot number seven..."

Bruce was pretty sure he was not interested in any of the oil paintings of sunsets, or the statues of nymphs or anything else the Olympus Gallery was selling. He began to get up, but stopped when Mindy put her hand on his thigh and gave subtle shake of her head. "You should stay," she said in sotto-voce. "It's too coincidental that the guy with the Ra's al Ghul and League of Shadows information should die right before it was supposed to go on auction."

_Which means,_ Bruce mentally finished. _That it might actually have some useful information in it._

So it was, that Bruce and Mindy sat, utterly bored, for the next hour until the auction finished. Near the end, he bought one of the marble nymph statues and a reproduction of an Andy Warhol print entitled _Guns_ that Mindy said she "..simply had to have." He thought it might ingratiate himself to the auctioneer if he took the ugly thing off his hands.

He had no idea what he'd do with the thing; it was too big to be a paperweight...

When it was over and the other patrons had finally left, still murmuring to themselves, Bruce took it upon himself to pay for his two purchases and approached the auctioneer with Mindy beside him acting pretty smug with herself at getting him to both stay and buy that Warhol print. _God,_ he suddenly thought. _Please don't tell me she actually likes that print_. He introduced himself.

"I'm Wesley Carter," the auctioneer said, shaking Bruce's hand and giving a Mindy a genuine smile. "We don't get many young people at these things; at least not as young as yourself. Too interested in computer games..." He turned to Bruce. "I must congratulate you on your fine purchases. Though I must say you have very contrasting tastes."

Bruce knew what he was talking about. "My daughter wanted the reproduction. At least it wasn't that expensive, and she has promised to pay me back. The other item will occupy a place of honour," Bruce mentally added: _At the bottom of Lake Michigan_. "I wonder if we might have a word in private."

Carter's expression turned serious as he scrutinised both his visitors. Clearly he approved of what he was seeing. He undoubtedly recognised the casual clothing Bruce and Mindy were wearing had cost a few thousand dollars each. Anyone who could afford such clothing could also afford to buy expensive artwork. "If you'll come with me, Mister..."

"Williams," Bruce stated as Mindy rolled her eyes. "Bruce Williams."

Bruce and Mindy followed Carter up a steep winding staircase to the second floor where the auctioneer maintained a small office. Bruce thought it might have originally been a maids or servants room. Settling into a pair of easy chairs, Bruce explained precisely what he wanted.

"Let me be certain I've understood you correctly," Carter stated Bruce had finished. "You're asking if there's any way to learn of the contents of Mister Cavally's uncle's translation."

As Carter spoke, Mndy watched his eyes dart down and to the left. The movement was brief, but it was unmistakable.

"That's _exactly_ what my father asked."

Carter nodded. "Well, Mister Cavally was a very cautious person. That's why he insisted on bringing the documents here personally. But, I couldn't offer them to my clientèle without some prior knowledge of their contents. They are very discerning customers and would immediately notice if I didn't know what they were about. So, I had Mister Cavally photograph both the original parchment and the accompanying translation then forward the prints to me last week."

Again, Mindy watched Carter's eyes drop down and to the left.

"I can't tell you how glad we are to hear that," Bruce said carefully. "I'd like to purchase those copies."

"I'm sorry," Carter said without hesitation. "That's out of the question."

"You can set the price," Mindy said, giving her most endearing smile.

"Mister Williams," Carter said, directing his response to Bruce. "I'd love to be be able to accommodate you, but until I hear from Mister Cavally's lawyers there is nothing I can do."

"And, when will that be?" Bruce asked.

Carter glanced at a calendar he had pinned up on the wall. "Could be about two to three months."

"Did we mention you could set your own price?" Bruce said, reminding Carter of Mindy's suggestion.

"You did," Carter said straight faced. "And, did I mention that it was out of the question?"

Bruce and Mindy rose, extending their hands. "Sorry to have taken up your time," Bruce said.

"No trouble at all, Mister Williams," Carter said pleasantly. "No trouble at all."

They shook, and Bruce told him they could find their own way down. They descended the stairs, and on their way towards the exit noticed an unmarked door.

Mindy glanced around, noting that nobody was within sight. A quick glance up at the ceiling told both of them there was one CCTV camera, but it was focused on the entryway into the auction hall they'd been in earlier. "We're clear," she said.

He opened the door, and discovered a flight of steps that led down into the cellar.

_Ooh-kaaay..._ the two of them thought.

They quickly closed the door and left. Taking a quick look round the block, they noted the positioning of everything from fire hydrants to store front awnings. Satisfied with their reconnoitre, Bruce told her it was time to tool up. "Forget Forty-Seventh Street and East Avenue," Mindy told him after he explained his plans. She hailed a cab. "I'm taking you to Safe house C."

Getting in the cab with Bruce she told the driver: "175 Columbia Heights."

Twenty minutes later, the cab stopped in front of a renovated mid-nineteenth century low-rise apartment complex. After paying the fare, Bruce and Mindy descended the steps that led to the doorway. The gold numbers affixed to the top of the front door identified the building as: 175 Columbia Heights.

Reaching into her backpack, Mindy pulled out a set of a keys and opened the door. "No doorman,"

Bruce nodded as he stepped inside, allowing Mindy to take the lead since she was familiar with this particular building. She didn't, Bruce noticed, use the elevator. Instead choosing to use the stairs. "Top floor?" Bruce asked.

"Top floor," Mindy confirmed.

O-O-O

When Bruce stepped into the apartment, he very nearly let out an audible gasp. Damon Macready had turned an inexpensive apartment into an armoury. About the only parts that were still as the interior designers had intended were the oakwood effect laminate floor and the kitchen area just inside the entry foyer. The walls of the living area were lined from floor to ceiling with every possible weapon he could think of. Everything from 9mm hand guns to assault rifles, various bladed weapons like knives, bō staffs modified with blades on either end to shaken – frequently, but incorrectly thanks to Hollywood, called throwing stars. There were even a few bazooka and a very authentic looking Soviet-era RPG-7.

There was almost no furniture. Just a large office desk in the centre of the living area with a pair of shut down white high end Queen Industries QMac computers and a drawing easel off to the side. He paused as his eyes tracked across the far corners of the room and the middle of the far wall between the two blind covered windows wwere each occupied by a mannequin.

The left hand mannequin, was dressed simply in what appeared to be a green wetsuit with yellow piping and a yellow utility belt. The right hand mannequin was smaller, about the same size as Mindy, dressed in Hit-Girl's suit; essentially child-sized purplish motorcycle leathers that Bruce knew from Mindy were lined with kevlar to resist bullets, the purple tartan skirt with pink utility belt and hanging from the back, a dark purple cape. It's head wore a purple wig and a black strip of cloth across over the eyes.

Taking the place of honour, was the centre mannequin dressed entirely in a close fitting black neoprene bodysuit to which large pieces of hardened black body armour were attached to the torso area – particularly the vulnerable chest and abdomen areas – with smaller pieces around the arms, shoulders and legs. Like the Hit-Girl costume, it also featured a dark cape; in this case a longer black one and a utility belt that was almost identical to the utility belt of the green Kick-Ass costume. Unlike the other two costumes, this suit featured a hardened identity concealing cowl rather than a simple mask.

Behind him, Mindy quietly closed the apartment door with a soft snick. "You like?"

Bruce nodded towards the centre mannequin. "It's very crude in design, but it is very similar to what the members of the League of Shadows wore in Ra's al Ghul's monastery."

"Think you can use it?" she asked, coming up to stand next to him, a hopeful look in her eyes.

"At least 'till I design my own," he said as he approached the centre mannequin. "But I do need to make a slight modification" Grasping the buckle of the utility belt, he removed the two capitol letters. "I'm not Big Daddy."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

If there was one thing Bruce and Mindy had plenty of right now, it was time since they wouldn't be returning to the gallery until it was near closing time. So, now dressed in their costumes; but with protective sparring headgear, they trained.

For Bruce, it wasn't so much about the training as it was getting used to the costume. The suit of armour was actually quite tight wear, which wasn't surprising since it had been sized for a slimmer man; not someone who was as well built as Bruce. He'd been forced to loosen up the utility belt by a couple of holes. In Mindy's case, it was more that he wanted to see just how she compared to him. He already, knew she'd be much more nimble and be able to get closer than a fully grown opponent.

They were currently in what was supposed to be the master bedroom. However, there was no bed or furniture. There wasn't even any carpet, only the ubiquitous blue training mats normally seen at gymnastics competitions. Even the walls weren't exactly typical for a master bedroom. Here the walls were padded with what he guessed was soundproofing. This safe-house, Mindy had told him, wasn't ideal. Though it was inexpensive to rent as were the other apartments in this particular complex, it was located in a relatively high demand area – some neighbouring complexes had rental rates that reached well past the thousand dollar per calendar month range – and any unusual activities would get noticed right away. It was for that reason this safe-house had tended to be used mostly around Christmas time when they took a short break from their activities.

"Hand-to-hand only, and don't hold back," Bruce stated casually, trying to look relaxed and non-committal. "Are you ready to begin."

"Always!" Mindy snapped and charged at him.

Bruce had been expecting this. Being a smaller opponent, she needed to get in close to prevent him from using his height and longer reach. He kicked her hard; not as hard as Ducard had kicked him all those months ago, but it was still hard enough to knock a girl of Mindy's size to the ground. Mindy fell flat on her back.

"Thought, you were going to pull your moves." Mindy groaned. _Fuck_, she suddenly thought to herself as Bruce loomed over her. _He's strong_. _And tall. She _shouldn't have charged him, Mindy realised. She should have kept up her guard, waiting for him to come to her; and to top it off, she'd made the same mistake before when she'd faced off with Frank D'Amico. She rolled back to her feet, ready for more.

"I am pulling them," Bruce half lied, aiming a face punch at Mindy with his right fist. It never hit; instead, Mindy stepped into it blocking the punch with her body before slamming her forearms into Bruce's right carotid artery, finishing up with a knee to the groin. Bruce bent forward automatically, bringing his head down to her level.

Without hesitation, Mindy followed though with an elbow strike to the back of his head, forcing him down even lower.

"Better," Bruce smiled.

Mindy took up a fighting stance her father had taught her; feet a little wider than shoulder width apart, distributing her weight evenly between both feet and bladed off – keeping her left foot ahead with her right behind her so that her body wasn't standing straight on to Bruce, but at a noticeable angle with her hands raised to head height.

Bruce attacked, and Mindy responded with a series of punches, kicks, chops, blocks, even butting heads—a smooth flurry of continual motion. "Your father has taught you well," Bruce said praisingly. "But this isn't playtime."

Bruce smashed his fist into Mindy's face and kicked her in the stomach, confident her armour would protect her from serious harm. She fell flat on her back. Groaning, Mindy pushed herself up onto her hands. "Was that Keysi?"

Bruce shrugged, pulling Mindy back to her feet. "Never heard of Keysi," he answered truthfully. "But, the League of Shadows taught us the art of fighting from our hearts; to do what we feel like doing. So if I felt like butting heads..."

"You'd butt your head." Mindy finished. "That's Keysi."

Bruce nodded. "But what you know, is only the tip of the iceberg; there's so much more for you to learn..."

O-O-O

They were back in the main part of the apartment, where Bruce was carefully grinding a couple of chemical powders that Mindy's father had used occasionally in a couple of mortar bowls to make them even finer; a third empty bowl sat between them. After a moment, he stopped grinding and put a small quantity of each powder in the third. "This apartment is soundproofed, right?" Carefully, he mixed them together.

Mindy nodded, wondering what he was doing. Her father had always threatened to put her on inactive status if she ever touched those chemicals. "Dad wouldn't have used this particular apartment otherwise."

Bruce touch a pinch of the dull grey mixture and tossed it at the floor. The was a brief flash of light and sharp _bang_.

Despite being warned, Mindy was still startled; instinctively reaching to her side for a gun that wasn't there.

"Explosives," Bruce explained. "Aren't just useful as weapons. They can also be used as distractions. Theatricality and deception can be powerful agents to the uninitiated; you must become more than just a man, or _woman_, in the mind of your opponent."

Mindy took a small pinch of the powder, and flicking her wrist, threw it to the floor aiming it at the same spot Bruce had. She didn't flinch this time at the loud report. "How?" Mindy asked.

"These chemicals were the main ingredients your father used in his home-made grenades," Bruce stated. "When compacted and held in a sealed container they're very explosive, but also very stable requiring a detonator to set it off. "But, if turned into a very fine powder and mixed together loosely, they're more shock sensitive while being less explosive."

"Fucking nice," Mindy grinned, then went slightly sad. "Wish Dad had some of that stuff the night of the ambush."

Bruce didn't respond, taking a look at the clock in the kitchen area. It was getting close to four in the afternoon, and Mindy's friend, who he presumed was Dave, would be arriving with his car so they wouldn't have to deal with the inconvenience of taxis.

It was then that Mindy's cellphone chirped, announcing the arrival of an incoming text. "Dave should be here in five minutes," Mindy told Bruce after glancing at the phone.

"I'll get the bags," Bruce answered before grimacing. "And tell him he can pick up _your_ purchase and get it sent back to Gotham. I'll cover the cost."

Sending the reply, Mindy looked up at him "What's wrong with the print. I like it," A malicious grin took shape on her face. "And besides, that print used to hang in Frank D'Amico's office."

Disappearing down the hallway, he called back: "Put your street clothes on over your outfit." Bruce cursed silently to himself; his outfit was too bulky to conceal while wearing it. He was going to have to change back into his normal clothes.

O-O-O

"So, Dave," Bruce asked casually as he leaned back in the back seat of the tuned purple Mustang. "How did you two meet?"

"We...Errr..." Dave mumbled from the drivers seat. "She saved my life."

"Well fuck," Mindy said seriously. "I suppose I did. You see, Dave's girlfriend was being abused by her ex-boyfriend; a drug dealer called Rasul. So Dave – as Kick-Ass – went to Rasul's den to tell him to stay away from Katie or, he'd come back and break his fucking legs."

"Not my finest moment," Dave meekly supplied.

"I'm guessing this Rasul didn't take it well," Bruce stated.

"No," Mindy stated. "He didn't. Dave was way in over his head..." She smiled, remembering that night.

**Two and a half months earlier...**

"Holy shit," Hit-Girl said quietly to herself, gazing into her small hand-held periscope at the scene taking place in the dingy apartment. "He looks like a fucking green condom."

"_Manners, Hit-Girl,_" her father, in the guise of Big Daddy told her over their radio link. "_You shouldn't be disrespectful to a possible ally. Even if he does look like one._"

"Yes Daddy," she answered, trying to listen in on the conversation taking place inside.

Rasul, a fairly tall African-American with long dreadlocks was taking a few menacing steps towards Kick-Ass. "Or what?" he stated incredulously.

"Or," Kick-Ass, whom she currently couldn't see because Rasul was now blocking her view, spoke with obviously false bravado. "I'll come back, and break your fucking legs."

Hit-Girl shook her head, setting the bangs of her purple pageboy wig swaying. _Big mistake_, she thought to herself.

Through the periscope, she could see Rasul taking a few more steps closer to Kick-Ass, as he in turn took a few steps back. "Right here now!" Rasul announced angrily. "What's-" He didn't finish. Instead, his body had started jerking spasmodically before falling to the floor, and she could see a pair of thin wire's leading away from his head towards where Kick-Ass was just coming back into view as a couple of Rasul's goons attempted to wrestle him to the floor.

_No fucking way!_ Mindy thought, as a half amused grin formed on her masked face. "Kick-Ass just tased Rasul in the forehead."

Rasul didn't stay down long, within moments, he was back on his feet. "Hold him!"

_Fuck this!_ Hit-Girl thought. "I'm going in."

"_Understood__,_" her father ordered. "_Try not to show off too much._"

Hit-Girl didn't respond to his warning. Silently, she slipped in through the open window, and began to creep up on Rasul, taking a final glance round the apartment.

_Fuck,_ she silently thought. _It's even dingier from the inside_. There were at least four additional male African-American belligerents in immediate sight and a single female Caucasian possible. She grinned; they were so stoned or focused on Kick-Ass, they hadn't even noticed her despite being right in front of them.

"You are so fucking dead-" Rasul never finished. In an instant, she'd taken her bladed bō staff from her back and stabbed him from behind. She promptly pulled it out.

Rasul stood there for are heartbeat looking down at his chest. Mindy couldn't see his face, but in her mind she could imagine the look of surprise and bewilderment on his face as he took in the growing red blood stain in the middle of his white vest. He finally toppled over, revealing her presence.

Deftly, she swung her bō staff around back into the ready position, taking in the stunned expressions of those around her. "Okay you cunts," Hit-Girl announced menacingly. "Let's see what you can do now."

Hit-Girl looked at the closest belligerent – dark skinned and long dreadlocks like Rasul, pale blue denims, sleeveless shirt and a stupid red tie. "Eeny," she turned to the next, a dark haired braless bimbo in a red dress. "Meeny," the third was short haired and wore a basketball top with tracksuit bottoms. "Miney," while the fourth was the skinhead disc-jockey. The last two were the ones holding Kick-Ass down. "Moe."

Without hesitating, Hit-Girl launched herself at Eeny, who'd grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels – to wield as as a club – smashing it into into tiny shards with her bō staff before executing a flying kick that sent him crashing into the leather couch by the wall. _One down_, she thought to herself before sending a beaming smile at Kick-Ass. _Why the fuck did I just do that?_

She turned her attention to Miney, pirouetting her her way towards Kick-Ass. Dodging the pocketknife, Hit-Girl ducked under his bare arm, slashing him across the back in a spray of blood. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, giving Kick-Ass the time he needed to ass-shuffle his way to the nearby bookcase that contained cases of Budweiser beer rather than books. _Two down. _She gave Kick-Ass an appraising glance; he was freaking out. "What the fuck?" she vaguely heard him mutter. Once again she gave him the smile.

Moe was next up. He'd grabbed a nearby knife and was waving it threateningly in her face. On pure instinct alone, she cartwheeled into him land one of her steel toe-caped boots in his face. He crashed into the glass side table, spraying shards everywhere.

Behind her, she was vaguely aware that Eeny and Miney were back on their feet. Cartwheeling back to where she'd been a moment earlier, she stabbed her bō staff through Miney's chest before severing Eeny's left leg just below the knee; neither of them were getting up again. Miney had been killed instantly, while Eeny's blood was squirting out of the three main arteries in his leg.

She turned to the guy who'd been smoking Cannabis from the Bong. He was holding a floor lamp like a staff, so she split the lamp in two and stabbed him as she'd stabbed Miney. She smiled again at Kick-Ass. "Get up and use those fucking truncheons!" Hit-Girl mouthed, but he didn't get up. _Guess I'm doing this solo_. Kick-Ass was glancing from a now opened door that lead to an even dingier bathroom to her self and back.

Standing in the doorway, was an average John Doe type guy flipping a Balisong identical to her own. Planting her bō staff in the Cannabis smoker's chest, she retrieved her own knife and started flipping it back at him. "Hey, I got one of those." The look on his face was priceless. She threw it at him, not that she needed to though. Even as the knife was was in mid-air, Kick-Ass had seemingly found a nail gun and was wielding it like a 9mm at the guy. At the same moment her knife sunk into the guy's chest, three nails pierced John Doe's stomach. _Not totally useless, I guess_.

For good measure, Hit-Girl charged him, kicking him back into the bathroom smashing the mirror above the sink.

_Not bad, only Meeny left. _She stared the bimbo down who'd picked up a bottle and smashed it against the edge of a table. "Come on!" Meeny goaded.

Hit-Girl mentally shook her head. "So, you wanna' to play..." Retrieving her bō staff from Cannabis Guy, she split it in two and started marching her down. She grinned, watching the bimbo drop the broken bottle and turn to run for the apartment door. Following Meeny, she sunk both ends of her bō staff through her and the door and pulled them right back out. Meeny dropped to the floor.

Turning around, Hit-Girl went back to what passed for the living room in this place, reconnecting the two ends of her bō staff. She sighed; it was time to deal with Kick Ass.

Currently, he was still backed into the bookshelf, holding the tiny camouflaged taser up at her while still wielding the nail gun in his other hand. "Dude," Hit-Girl shook her head. "That is one gay looking taser."

He didn't answer her. It was looking like he was still in a semi-state of shock; not that she could fucking blame him though. He'd just very nearly been killed, and then witnessed her mow her way though a room full of drug dealers and users. "Relax," she told him, trying to sound as friendly as she could. "We're all on the same team. Hey get up—"

She stopped dead in her tracks and ducked, going for the deck as Kick started firing nails at the doorway.

Standing in the doorway was a large overweight dark-skinned guy with a knife in his hand. She grimaced at the sight of him. Nails were entering his chest everywhere. An instant later, two more nails thrust their way into his fat neck. The nails stopped, even though the click of the trigger being pulled continued.

"_Stay down._" Big Daddy ordered her over her radio. "_I'm putting him out of his misery._" There was the sound of glass breaking then a hole appeared in the guy's forehead. He fell to the floor in a heap.

Getting back to her feet, she reached out for the nail gun, taking it off him. "I think you're out of fucking nails."

"_Now Hit-Girl,_" Big Daddy reprimanded. "_We always keep our backs where?_"

"To the wall, Daddy," she swore. "It wont happen again."

**Present**

"A nail gun?" Bruce said, shaking his head. He didn't agree with the use firearms. But the use of a nail gun as weapon was just incredible. Yeah he'd seen a couple of films where the good guy, usually a two-dimensional dumb blonde teenage girl, used one to defend themselves from an evil bad guy. But he'd always thought they didn't actually have that much power in the firing mechanism.

"Hey," Dave said, the grin evident in his voice. "It worked."

"Yeah it fucking did." Mindy had to agree from where she was seated in the back seat. "Don't know how though." She grimaced, taking another look round the car. It's inside had been bugging her ever since she got in. "Fucking hate to change the subject. But, is this the..."

"Mistmobile?" Dave finished. "Yeah, it is. Bought it from the police impound with a little help from Dad and Marcus. It's still got those cuffs down the back seat. Don't want to think what fucking Chris D'Amico needed them for. They aren't exactly designed to restrain..."

Bruce let out a sigh. Silently wishing the two would be quit their swearing. They just encouraged each other.

"Fucking probably," Mindy said half seriously, pulling up one of the aforementioned cuffs. She dropped them immediately. "Yuck... They're bondage cuffs. Get rid of them and put in proper cuffs. Great! now I need to wash my eyes out with bleach."

Dave winced, as he pulled up outside Olympus Gallery. "We're here."

Glancing out the window, Mindy saw they were indeed back at the gallery. Grabbing her Hello Kitty backpack, she and Bruce went back up the steps to the gallery. Dave would enter just before closing time to make shipping arrangements for their earlier purchases giving them the distraction they were going to need.

Bruce was now dressed entirely in black: Dark jeans, black cotton shirt and black cotton tie. Everything was a little tight on him, given that the clothes had originally belonged to Mindy's father. Only his footwear was unchanged; he was still wearing his smart dress shoes.

Mindy, outwardly appeared to be wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing this morning, but with the addition of jeans to cover up the lower part of the Hit-Girl suit and the fact that she now wore combat boots on her feet.

"Back again?" The woman in the pant-suit asked.

"Saw some things I'd like a second look at." Bruce told her pleasantly. "If that's all right."

The brunette gave an exceptionally wide smile. "Of course it its. Just remember we do close at five."

Bruce nodded in the affirmative, then proceeded to have a browse at some of the artefacts in the galleries near the front doors. Neither Bruce, nor Mindy were taking in the artefacts; in reality, they were taking a closer look at the security arrangements. Everything was as it was this morning with the exception that there was now a CCTV podium erected just by the entrance to the auction hall. It was portable, designed to be rolled out of the way when not in use.

Standing at it was the night guard; a tall slim guy with gingery hair and a round scar in his right cheek. Bruce recognised it as a bullet wound, and silently wondered how he got it as it looked almost like he'd been shot from inside his mouth; something that was impossible for any grown person... His thoughts trailed off as he suddenly looked at Mindy. He tapped her shoulder. "Who is he?" Bruce nodded to the guard.

Mindy cursed when she took him in. "That's the doorman – former doorman – to the D'Amico building." Mindy told Bruce quietly Daniel Aloysius Malone; forty-three years old, originally born in Rome, Italy. But grew up in England before moving here to New York with his parents when he was seventeen. For the past three years he was working for Frank D'Amico." She paused thoughtfully. "Me and Dave, well mostly Dave, have been keeping a quiet, but close eye on him. He quit after that night and started attending Star Career Academy to study Cookery and Business Management."

"That place," Bruce said thoughtfully. "Costs a lot of money, if my memory's right."

Mindy nodded. "It does. Which is why he's probably doing night work here as a guard. He shouldn't recognise me. I don't exactly look like the little fucking schoolgirl right now. And, at the time, I did have a silenced semi-automatic pistol in his cheek. That's how he got that scar. Still... Nah."

Bruce shot raised his eyebrows. An idea had clearly formed in her head, and then she'd obviously dismissed it.

At around four-fifty, they heard Dave enter, not exactly quietly, and approach the reception desk. That was their cue.

Quietly, they slipped their way out of the gallery. Bruce had to give credit to Dave, he had the full attention of the pant-suit woman and Daniel wasn't looking where he should be. Reaching the unmarked door, Bruce and Mindy dashed through it, closing the door behind them, and scrambled down the steps.

The cellar wasn't completely dark. There was some light coming in from a painted over street level window where someone had, recently, chipped away the paint from one of the small glass panes. Just to the right of the window, Bruce spotted a small sliding metal hatch with a slide to lower items from the outside into the cellar. That hatch Bruce knew from their earlier reconnoitre was in a deserted side alley.

The cellar they were in was fairly low ceilinged filled with crates and painting wrapped up in brown parcel paper. At the rear, behind all the clutter, they spotted an old fashioned coal bin that was also filled up with crates. They went into it and, crouching low, waited.

A few moments later, one of the galleries employees came down and retrieved a large painting and a small crate. Beside him, The employee went back up the stairs and closed the door. Not long after, the hatch next to the window opened and a pinkish holdall was dropped down the slide. The hatch was slid closed.

_About time Dave,_ Mindy thought quickly retrieving the holdall and returning to the coal bin. The holdall, Mindy knew, contained the Big Daddy outfit. She passed it over to Bruce and began shrugging off her civilian clothes before pulling her Hit-Girl skirt and wig from her backpack.

Beside her, Bruce shook his head. He didn't really want to wear this stuff, and didn't think it'd be necessary. "Just put it on," Mindy quietly muttered. "It'll allow you easy access to everything you'll need. And," she paused. "It'll ensure Daniel's cooperation if we have to deal with him."

Now geared up, it was back to waiting. Waiting wasn't a problem for Bruce. Ducard, at Ra's al Ghul's monastery, had tough him the value of patience. Judging by how still Mindy was beside him, her father had taught her the same lesson.

Overhead, Mindy hear the sound of footsteps and muffled voices wishing goodbyes to each other. Silence followed.

They waited. Aware of the darkness, and of the noises in the old building. The two of them were alert, but still.

Mindy checked the time on her inexpensive, but accurate digital Casio watch. 8:25PM.

"Time," Bruce mouthed, glancing at his own Rolex watch before rising from their hiding spot and ascending the steps back to the main hallway.

O-O-O

Taking advantage of her smaller size, Hit-Girl slowly, and carefully opened the door a crack and peered out into the hallway. No one was standing at the CCTV podium. _Must be doing the rounds_, she thought to herself. "Clear," she stated quietly as she crouched low, opening the door more fully to allow herself and Bruce to step into the hallway. The only sources of light came from the neon red _EXIT_ sign and a small reading lamp atop the podium.

Keeping low and to the side of the hallway, the duo cautiously climbed the winding staircase to the first landing. Someone coughed and the beam of a flash-light shone against the wall ahead of them. The sound of footsteps drew closer. The guard, probably Daniel Malone, would be facing them in a couple seconds.

Without hesitation, Bruce swung over the railing and hung by the floor of the landing, his legs dangling down the centre of the stairwell. He glanced to his right, expecting to see his partner hanging beside him; she wasn't. He glanced up at he ceiling. She'd jumped up it seemed and was doing the splits – one foot wedged against the top of the wall, the other against the capital of a wooden column rising from the landing banister – and to keep her back flat against the ceiling, Hit-Girl was extending an arm out ahead of herself to grip hilt of her combat knife which she'd stabbed into a wooden support beam. She was grinning down at him.

Daniel Malone, his belt draped with a cellphone and various other small pieces of equipment, walked past; his flash-light sweeping from left to right ahead him. His right shoe came within half an inch of his fingers. By the time he reached the floor above him, he'd vaulted over the railing and Hit-Girl had lightly dropped to the floor pulling her knife from the support beam in the process.

"That was close," Hit-Girl mouthed. Bruce nodded back at her, silently agreeing. Together, they moved the way they had each been taught to move, quickly and in absolute silence, to Wesley Carter's door. Taking the lead, Bruce tried the handle and pushed; the door was unlocked, and opened easily. Wesley Carter was obviously the trusting kind. The duo entered and closed the door behind them.

Silently, Bruce crossed to the desk, while Hit-Girl stayed by the door, noting that the key was actually in the lock. _Guess the curator sometimes likes his privacy_, she silently thought. Very quietly, she turned the key, locking the door. _Just like us_.

Over at the desk, Bruce retrieved the lock pick gun from the utility belt that Mindy, under the guise of Hit-Girl, had practically ordered him to wear. Carter, as Mindy had noted, had twice glanced down at the top left drawer of his desk when he'd told Mindy and himself that they couldn't look at the documents. That meant that that was most likely where the copies of the documents actually were, so that was where he'd start. He winced at the thought of picking the lock. The desk looked like it was worth a small fortune itself. Bruce resolved to leave some notes as compensation if he did. Fortunately, he was in luck. The desk, like the office was unlocked and he was able to open the drawer. Carter was definitely the trusting kind. Either that, or he didn't think the documents were worth stealing; it was entirely possible he was right. Retrieving a small digital camera, again from the utility belt – Bruce was definitely glad Mindy had suggested using the belt rather than an attaché like he had planned. First off he hadn't any idea of what he'd have done with the case when hanging from the banisters, other than gripping the handle with his teeth. And, secondly the belt allowed him to keep his hands free almost all the time. About the only thing that was wrong with this belt was that it didn't seem that durable – and lay the photocopies on the desk. He began taking pictures.

O-O-O

Daniel Malone was bored and tired. He spent all day at Star Career Academy and then had to spend all night at the stupid CCTV podium just in case someone decided to break into the place; not that anyone would since most of the artefacts on sale was stuff that had been confiscated by debt collectors, or just plain unwanted. At least, the curator was kind enough to let him have his books with him so he could study while working.

He couldn't really complain. In the last couple months he'd begun to turn his life around. Previously, he'd been an employee of Frank D'Amico as a doorman at the D'Amico Building.

It had been a stupid job, just like all his previous jobs. But given the environment he'd been brought up in, having a career in organised crime had seemed perfectly acceptable. Just like it was in any city with a criminal underworld; be it Chicago, Gotham City, or right here in New York.

That's what he'd been doing for most of his adult life. Working for whichever crime boss was offering the most money. The D'Amico job had seemed like a cushy racket. At least until _she_ showed up – the little girl in the schoolgirl uniform, blonde pigtails and tears – fake tears, he now knew – running down her pretty face because she'd lost her mummy and daddy. Feeling sorry for the little girl, he'd offered to let her use his cell phone. The next thing he'd known she'd stuck a silenced 9mm handgun in his mouth. After that, he didn't remember much other than the searing pain in the side of his mouth. He'd passed out and when he came round with a throbbing pain in his chest, he'd left as quickly as he could and didn't look back.

A few minutes earlier, during his upward patrol, he'd thought he'd heard noises coming from the second floor landing, and so had retraced his footsteps, but had found nothing. Now nearing the end of his downward patrol, he was returning to that same landing.

He paused as he stepped onto the landing. Daniel could see flashes of light coming from Mister Carter's office. _Fuck_, he silently thought. Those noises he'd heard earlier, definitely had been someone, probably just having entered the small office. _Why couldn't the old coot not lock the door like he was always telling him to do_. Approaching the door to the small office, he observed the flashes of light more closely; someone was taking pictures.

Pulling his 9mm from its holster, he reached out to turn the handle. It didn't budge. _Great_, he shook his head. _Not only does he refuse to lock the door when he's not in, but he also keeps the fucking key in the lock._

O-O-O

Standing just by the door, Hit-Girl flattened herself against the wall, silently cursing at Bruce's dislike of guns. At the desk, Bruce had nearly finished taking pictures of the documents. He paused, noticing the attempt to open the door, and braced himself just in case Hit-Girl needed the help.

After a moments silence, Hit-Girl heard the jangling of keys and then the key was pushed out of the keyhole before being unlocked from the outside. The door opened and Daniel Malone entered, 9mm at the ready.

Hit-Girl reacted on instinct, just like her daddy had trained her. Pushing the gun hand both away from herself and Bruce with one hand, she used the other to grab the barrel and twist it back round on Daniel and ripped it out of his hand. In no more than a second, she'd both disarmed him and armed herself.

Wincing at the sudden pain in wrist of his gun hand, Daniel looked up at his attacker and immediately regretted it as he took in the four-foot-eight girl in purple leathers, skirt and wig. It was her, the star of his nightmares: Hit-Girl.

"Sweet dreams," Hit-Girl said pleasantly, before pistol whipping him across the head. Blackness claimed him.

Turning away from the unconscious Daniel Malone, Hit-Girl stripped the 9mm and tossed the pieces aside. "Nearly done?" She hissed.

"Done," Bruce stated, lowering his voice to a deep raspy growl as he put the documents back in the drawer. Hit-Girl shivered, the sound taking her back a year to when her father had come down with laryngitis for a few days. It was what he'd sounded like when he spoke. She'd never admit it, but the raspy sound gave her the creeps.

"Good. Let's get out of here." Pulling her cellphone from her belt, Hit-Girl sent a simple text message: Ready for extraction.

A response came almost immediately. "He's waiting," Hit-Girl told Bruce quietly as he stood at the door, his ear pressing against it; no footsteps.

_Getting out is not going to be easy_, Bruce thought. They couldn't go out the front door as the sidewalks at this time of the evening would still be busy. New York, like Gotham, was a city that didn't know how to sleep. Which was why the plan was to exit onto the side alley where Dave would be waiting with the car.

He was just about to open the door, when there came the sound of a window smashing and something being thrown in.

After giving Bruce a single glance, Hit-Girl quietly opened the door and slipped out onto the hallway and proceeded back towards the second floor landing. She felt the heat long before she got to the landing. A single glance down the stairwell was all she needed to learn what had happened. The ground floor hallway was ablaze.

"Fuck!" She didn't have to even think about who was responsible. It had to be this League of Shadows. They might not have been the perpetrators, but it would have been under their orders that it was done. Bruce had told her that the League of Shadows wanted as few people as possible to know of their existence.

Abandoning all pretence of stealth, she ran back to Carter's office where Bruce was carrying Daniel Malone in a fireman's lift across his shoulders. He already knew. "Fire," she stated calmly.

The flames had not yet reached the second floor, but within minutes, they would. The only way out, was via the fire-escape.

Swiftly, they made their way down the hallway to the window. Hit-Girl smashed it with her elbow, and together, she and Bruce clambered onto the fire-escape. "Put him down," Hit-Girl said.

As Bruce did so, she pulled out a small object from her belt, crushing waving it under Daniel Malone's nose. "Smelling salts." she explained.

With a sudden gasp, Daniel Malone woke up and was immediately aware of three distinct facts. First off, he was still alive; secondly, his vision of Hit-Girl was most definitely not his imagination given she was right in his face and that he was no longer in the building. "Where," he whimpered, thinking maybe he wasn't about to die. "Where am I?"

"Fire-escape of Olympus Gallery," Hit-Girl told him as the big guy in black armour, Big-Daddy he presumed, hauled him to his feet. "It's on fire. Come with us, if you want to live."

He looked through the broken window. And took in the flames that were starting to reach the second floor. In the distance, he could just make out the sound of sirens. Hit-Girl began to repeat herself as she stepped onto the steep fire-escape. He cut her off. "I'm coming, I'm coming."

The Mistmobile, or the Hit-mobile, as she decided she was going to call it was waiting for them at the base of the fire-escape. Hit-Girl quickly pushed Daniel into the back-seat before piling in after him. Dave, now dressed as Kick-Ass was in the driver's seat. "Go Go Go."


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The next morning, Bruce and Mindy were back in the bright sunny kitchen of Wayne Manor, finishing their breakfast of scrambled eggs, cereal and a protein shake.

"I trust your breakfasts were satisfactory, this morning?" Alfred asked from the sink where he stood rising out some cups.

"Yes thanks," Mindy answered, carefully minding her language. Beside her, Bruce nodded absent-mindedly.

Finishing up at the sink, Alfred joined them at the table and just shook his head. "I don't know how you can stand that stuff. It tastes like..."

"You get used to it," Mindy answered. "It helps if you add something to it. Like strawberries, banana, or whatever takes your fancy. Gets rid of the bland taste."

Alfred nodded, taking in the information. He'd remember that for tomorrow. He looked at Bruce, who was staring thoughtfully into his cereal bowl. "You seem rather pensive this morning, Master Bruce. Something you want to share with the rest of us?"

"I'm just replaying yesterday."

"Trying to make sense of it?" Mindy asked.

Bruce nodded. "Yeah."

"So what confuses you, exactly?" Alfred enquired enquired.

"All of it," Bruce stated. For one thing, _I liked it_. The hanging off of landings, the thrill of nearly being caught, twice." He was remembering both times Daniel Malone had come across them. "It _felt_ right. I can't really explain it..."

Beside him, Mindy was grinning. "Yeah, you're a real adrenaline junkie all right."

Alfred nodded. "She's right. That was the adrenaline making you feel like that. The thrill of danger perhaps."

"No," Bruce shook his head. "It was more than that. It was as if I was doing something I was meant to do. Something I should be doing."

Alfred ruefully shook his head. "You do know there's not many career opportunities for cat burglars. And the benefits suck: No health insurance, no parking space. Need I go on?"

Bruce raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I get your point. Now, Can I change the subject?"

Alfred nodded. "Of course."

"I've got some pictures that need printed," Bruce began.

"And," Mindy finished. "It's probably best that we don't use the drugstore. I'd send them to some of my dad's contacts, but..."

"They're in New York." Alfred nodded. "I've got a friend with the right equipment in Gotham."

"Is your friend discreet?" Mindy and Bruce asked in unison.

"Completely."

Bruce left the kitchen, then returned a few minutes later with an attaché case that Bruce had used to bring the camera and Mindy's Hit-Girl equipment – minus the guns – back to Wayne Manor. "He can keep the case." Bruce looked at Mindy. "Your things are in the safe-room."

"Was it useful?" Alfred asked, looking at the case.

"The attaché case?," Bruce shook his head "Only bought it to bring the camera and Mindy's equipment back here. As soon as I broached the subject of getting ourselves equipped, Mindy _advised_ me to go to one of her father's safe-houses."

"You got that fucking right," Mindy stated proudly, ignoring both Bruce's and Alfred's glares. "I strongly suggested he use my dad's stuff. Just as well in my opinion. About the only thing's we could have used was night-vision goggles and maybe an infra-red flashlight."

Bruce nodded. "The utility belt was certainly useful."

"Next time the two of you need to commit a felony," Alfred said lightly. "We'll make sure you're better equipped." He paused thoughtfully. "You know, Lucious Fox at Wayne Enterprise's might be able to help you there."

"I'll take that under consideration."

A short while later, Alfred drove his Bentley away heading into uptown Gotham City; for the moment, Bruce and Mindy were left with nothing to do. _What do I do?_ He silently asked himself. He frowned. What indeed did they do when they weren't committing felonies, racing across glaciers, or fighting black clad ninjas. He followed Mindy into one of his father's small studies.

In the centre of the room was a small coffee table surrounded on three sides by a couch and a pair of armchairs. Mounted on the far wall above the fireplace was a large flat widescreen television.

Crossing over to the coffee table, Mindy glanced across it's surface taking in the international editions of the _The Independent_, _The Times_ and _The Scotsman_ newspapers until she saw the remote control. Picking it up, she switched on the television and began channel surfing.

Bruce shook his head. _Of course_, he thought as the answer presented itself to him. _Watch television. _"See if you can't find one of the news channels. Global News Network or something."

He watched, taking in the various shows and umpteen hundred commercial channels. He paused, then blinked. _Please God_, he silently thought to himself, _Is that a channel dedicated entirely shopping. _It was gone after a few seconds. Mindy was glaring at him with an amused grin on her face. "Your jaw is hanging. Please close it," Mindy stated.

He closed it. After a few more moments, Mindy stopped surfing; she'd found GNN.

He grew bored very quickly listening to all of the banal stories, mostly relating to the ongoing _War on Terror _taking place in Afghanistan, something about the upcoming trial of Saddam Hussein, and a historical report on 9/11. The next story got his attention when he saw Mindy sit a little straighter in her seat.

On the screen, were several fire trucks outside a very familiar burning brownstone building in New York. He listened to voice coming from the speaker: "_...officials say the fire was apparently started when a boiler in the basement of the 150 year old building exploded. Thankfully there were no fatalities. The night watchman on duty, one Daniel Malone, is reported as saying he was saved by the masked vigilante known only as Kick-Ass. While not as yet confirmed, if true then this will be Kick-Ass's first sighting since his attempted live execution two months ago. This is Anderson Cooper reporting for GNN in New York. Over to you, Carol._"

Bruce mentally swore as he shared a knowing glance with Mindy. "That fire was no boiler explosion," he stated. The brownstone housed – had housed, he mentally corrected himself – the Olympus Gallery. "Looks like your theory about the League of Shadows wanting to keep knowledge of its existence as minimal as possible was spot on."

Looking up at Bruce from where Mindy was seated on the couch, she began listing off the points: "Let's see. We've got the owner of the Ra's al Ghul documents in an airline crash that kills both himself and the other passengers; destroying the original documents in the process – check. "Mindy was counting off the points with her fingers. "Then mere days later the gallery for which they were destined to be sold in burns to the ground in what is _claimed_ to be a boiler explosion, also destroying the copies – but fails to do so before we managed to copy them ourselves – check. There's no way that is a coincidence." She paused, then swore eliciting an even deeper frown from Bruce. "Fucking hell. If they knew we'd managed to get copies, they'd..."

"...they'd try to burn this place to the ground, and make it look like an accident." Bruce finished.

A few hours later, Alfred returned bearing in one arm a large bound album and in the other a suit cover. It was too small for either Alfred or Bruce, but it wasn't too small for her. In fact it looked to be about the correct size. "Please don't fucking tell me, that is for me."

Alfred sighed. "Of course it's for you. If you're to to accompany Bruce to Wayne Enterprise's in a couple days, you're going to need it. Then there's the Gainsly Academy dress code."

Mindy grimaced. "I'm not wearing a fucking suit. I hate the things; too restricting."

Bruce smiled. "Yes, they are," he agreed. "But, if it's any conciliation, I'll be wearing the monkey suit too."

Taking the album from Alfred, Bruce flicked through it with Mindy at his side. In the centre of each page was a photograph of writing, alternating between a script he didn't recognise on the left hand pages while the right hand contained a typed translation in English. He looked up at Alfred. "Do we owe your friend anything?"

"She has her favourite charities," Alfred acknowledged.

"You decide the amount," Bruce told him. "I'll write the cheque once I'm declared legally alive, that is."

Alfred nodded. "Speaking of which, when are you planning on seeing Mister Earle?"

"Two days," Bruce answered after a moments thought. "I want to check up on a few people before I do."

"Surveillance?" Mindy asked.

"Yeah," Bruce confirmed. "Some old friends." He patted the spot next to him on the couch, silently telling her to sit right next him. Together, they opened up the album and began to read.

To Mindy, the story was almost like that of a fairy tale. But, it wasn't the brightly optimistic fluffy tale that Disney liked to make animated films of; this one was dark and scary. The kind, that if she'd been raised the way most girls her age were, would give her nightmares.

O-O-O

_...a man child was born during a terrible storm. It was a time of madness. It was a time of the mingling of things that should remain forever apart. For at noon the light died and darkness claimed the oasis and the sky above roiled and split and jagged blades of lightning slashed the earth below, and the very desert itself lifted and rode the screaming wind to strike anything in its path. Thus day assumed the guise of night. Water and sand allied._

_Then from the whirling insanity of a world in torment came a man. A hermit was he who for the past forty years had lived alone in a place without mercy. Some said he was a prophet. Some said he was a demon. All agreed that he long ago abandoned that which made the creature human._

_He entered the birthing room and suddenly the storm quieted. And in the stillness could be heard the wail of a newborn infant. The gaze of the new mother and her two sisters fastened on him in fascination and they trembled as he spoke in a voice that rasped and rumbled: Give him to me._

_The man from the storm lifted thee newborn and he spoke: He will be a life lit by lightning. His years will be many stretching beyond the farthest dreams of age and it is his destiny to be either mankind's saviour or to destroy all the lives upon the earth._

_The man from the storm returned the infant to his mother and spoke: My task is finished._

_And as the mother looked upon her son son only minutes from the womb she was afraid._

O-O-O

Mindy looked up from the manuscript, knowing immediately that the baby was Ra's al Ghul. She shuddered at the thought of being born in a storm. She hated thunder storms – the way the lightning lit up thee clouds made them nice to look at, but the thunder always scared her to her bones; the sound always reminded her of the crack of a gun. She put her hand to her chest, remembering being shot by Chris D'Amico. _Motherfucker!_ Mindy mentally cursed.

The sky outside had darkened and a bat fluttered past the window. Beside her, Bruce saluted it then reached over to switch on a lamp. "Daddy loved bats," Mindy told him. "He always described them as 'Great Survivors.' I just think they're beautiful creatures. I remember for a short time we kept one that'd gotten injured while we taking out one of Frank D'Amico's debt collectors. I wanted to keep it as a pet but he said that'd be cruel. So we eventually let him go. The bat, that is."

"I've never thought of them as beautiful creatures." Bruce acknowledged. "As a child they scared the hell out of me. Sill do sometimes." He paused. "Is that why your father designed his suit the way he did?"

"Partly," Mindy answered. "But it was also an homage to an old TV show he used to watch when he was younger." She pursed her lips. "Fuck, what was it called again. The _Gray Ghost_, I think." She looked back down at the manuscript, and resumed her reading.

There was a gap in the story. Many pages, perhaps hundreds were missing, and Mindy wondered whether that was intentional or not. She suspected it was. The narrative continued, the infant had grown and become a man, had married and mastered many healing arts. Somehow, Mindy read, he had even become the favourite of the local ruler, called Salimbok, and his son Runce. Several pages seemed to cover various trade routes and the typical size of dwellings; Bruce and Mindy barely skimmed those until a passage caught their eyes. It was an account of the healer's falling out with the Salimbok and the Runce.

It began with a race. The healer and Runce were galloping through the town on a pair of stallions when an old woman got in the way. The passage began mid-sentence: _ancient was she and blind and her soul was locked within itself no longer touching the world around her. She heard but did not heed the pounding of hooves as they approached her. She fell and was trampled into the dust._

_The contestants crossed the finish line and were joyously greeted by the Salimbok who declared the race truly excellent._

_The Salimbok spoke: The Physician is a gifted horseman. He rides as well as he heals. But my son rode as swiftly as the wind. I declare my son and heir the victor._

_The Physician's wife called Sora approached him. He spoke to her out of wounded pride: It seems that once again your husband bows to his better._

_She spoke: It is the will of the Salimbok that it be so. But I am still proud of my husband. Later when we are alone I will demonstrate the extent of my pride._

_Runce approached them. He spoke: What of me, fair Sora. Do not I merit any of your demonstration?_

_Runce embraced Sora while her husband stood by in helpless rage._

_The Salimbok approached and spoke to his son: The victor's feast awaits you. Such food as will delight your tongue and women too. Lovely girls in the first blush of maturity._

O-O-O

"Fucking Perverts," Mindy muttered, glancing up briefly.

O-O-O

_Runce spoke: There are none so lovely as the wife of the Physician._

_The Salimbok spoke to the Physician: He is young and impetuous. You must forgive him._

_The Physician quelled the rage and pride within him and spoke: Yes, Excellency._

_The Physician and his wife retired to their quarters and conversed regarding the son of the Salimbok. The Physician spoke: He is young. Years and responsibilities will teach him decorum._

_Sora doubted this and reminded her husband that Runce was no younger than he. The Physician replied that his studies had aged him beyond his years._

O-O-O

Mindy blinked, wondering what kind of studies those were. _Probably something satanic_, she thought to herself.

"Is this a good time for an interruption?" Alfred announced from the doorway. He was carrying a tray with a teapot, two cup and mug. "I thought you might like some refreshments."

"What are we having? Earl Grey?" Bruce asked.

"I brewed some of the green tea you seem to favour since your sojourn abroad; I'll admit it is starting to grow on me. And some hot chocolate with marshmallows for Mindy."

"That was not, I hope, a pun." Bruce remarked.

"Perish the thought," Alfred stated as he filled the two tea cups, gave one to Bruce before taking a seat himself in an armchair. Mindy picked up her mug of steaming hot chocolate. "So, is it too early to ask how the reading is going?"

Bruce sipped his tea. "It progresses fine. It could do with a few punctuation marks; a comma and quotation mark would not go amiss."

Mindy laughed sarcastically. "Are you kidding. Some of the kids at Filmore High, where Marcus sent me to school briefly, have better grammar than this guy."

Bruce and Alfred nodded. Bruce continued. "A little less quasi-poetic diction would be useful and maybe a hard fact now and then would be nice. But for the most part, I've no complaints."

"Should we add 'literary critic' to your resumes?"

"Fuck, no," Mindy stated, ignoring Alfreds glare. "But I think we both know what we like."

"We''ll make an educated man and women out of the two of yet."

Bruce shook his head. "Don't hold your breath."

Alfred stood. "Dinner at the usual time?"

Bruce nodded absently as he drained his tea cup. Mindy, he saw, was taking her time with the hot chocolate. The two picked up the manuscript and continued reading at the point where the Physician visited the woman he'd trampled.

O-O-O

_Brandishing a knife the son spoke to the Physician: You are not welcome here. I shall show you just how unwelcome._

_The Physician spoke: I understand your anger and I do not blame you for it. But, before you slice me open allow me a moment with your mother._

_The wish of the Physician was granted and he tended the old woman whose sightless eyes were closed. Her son inquired as to her condition and the Physician spoke: She is old and her injuries are grievous. There is little I can do. The Great Enemy will soon claim her._

_The son wished to know the identity of this Great Enemy that he might be slain before the death of the mother._

_The Physician spoke at length: The greatest and finial enemy of mankind. The merciless felon who is always lurking nearby ready to snatch us all we hold dear. The mocker of our aspirations and dreams and hopes. Our cruel master. Death. How I hate death._

_The Physician gave a pouch full of herbs to the son of the old woman. He explained that the herbs would not save the old woman but they would ease her passing. The son was touched by the kindness of the Physician and cast his blade to thee ground._

_A messenger from the Salimbok entered the dwelling and reported that Runce the son of the ruler had fallen gravely ill and was in need of the Physician._

The Physician and the messenger hurried to the royal dwelling. The Physician found Runce to be grievously ill. His skin was pale and his brow burned.

O-O-O

Mindy looked up briefly: "Poisened? I could see it as having happened during the feast mentioned earlier."

Beside her Bruce nodded. "Probably."

O-O-O

_The Salimbok inquired as to the cause of the illness For had not Runce been victorious in a race mere hours earlier? The Physician confessed that he had no certain knowledge, but he suspected the illness came from merchants who had recently visited the area and were themselves ill. The Salimbok wanted to know how this could be. The Physician replied that certain of his researches indicated that disease could move from one person to another and promised to exhaust himself in seeking to cure Runce._

_The Physician was sorely troubled. He mounted the animal he had ridden in the race and rode into the desert. In the distance silvered by moonlight, a cloud of dust and sand were sure signs of the nomads who preyed upon travellers. But either they had not seen him or were indifferent to plunder this night._

_He dismounted at the place where he had been born and immediately felt the energy that surges from the very earth itself. Here he could think and dream those dreams that are often the better of mere thought. The wind murmured then howled and shrieked and a thousand shapes began began to shimmer on the boundary y of sleep. Monsters welled up from unimaginable abyses to surround the physician and fill him with dread. But he did not shrink from them as he did in the past. He faced them and called them by their names and the names he called them were the names of Death. It was facing them that he came to see how he might defeat_

O-O-O

The narrative broke off again much to Mindy's frustration and as expected, there were many more pages missing. _Just when it was starting to get interesting..._ Beside her, Mindy could see the same frustration in Bruce's face.

Bruce put the manuscript down, picking up the empty cup and mug, he took them back to the kitchen. Something was bubbling on the stove and something else was in the oven. Both smelt very rich and caloric. Distantly, he could hear the sound of a soccer match – he refused to call it football no matter much Alfred tried to get him to do so – on television. It sounded like Glasgow Rangers, for once were beating Manchester United, if he remembered the names of the teams correctly. He knew Alfred was merely waiting for whatever it was he cooking to be done. Every night Alfred was outdoing himself creating something that was always wonderful and sumptuous tasting.

He didn't know how to tell his friend that every meal made him want to be sick. Mindy, he knew had expressed to him on the train journey back from New York that she'd rather have a simple bowl of Macaroni Cheese or Risotto. Only indulging in something full of calories once a week or on special occasions.

He brewed a new cup of Green Tea and made Mindy another cup of Hot Chocolate; not knowing exactly how much marshmallows to put in her drink, he simply grabbed the packet before returning to the study.

He passed over the mug and packet of marshmallows. "Sorry didn't know how much to put in so I..."

"Not a problem," Mindy answered, surprisingly without swearing. "Watch and learn." She showed him how much to put in.

They returned to their reading.

The narrative continued with the Physician returning home and passing a number of corpses on the road. He reached the city gate and was greeted by a guard who told him that the city had been raided by nomads and that there were a great many dead or wounded. Fortunately, the raid had been repulsed.

O-O-O

_The gatekeeper spoke: All of that is of no consequence. The son of the Salimbok is dying and you must attend him without delay._

_The Phyician went to the dwelling immediately and found that Runce was indeed close to death. The Salimbok implored the Physician to save his son and promised the Physician gold and slaves and even his kingdom itself. But the Physician wanted none of these things and told the ruler that Runce was already beyond the reach of the healing arts._

_The Physician spoke: It may be that last night a knowledge beyond medicine came to me in the guise of a dream. I will need labourers to dig a pit and a tent and other supplies._

_The kingdom was scoured to provide what the Physician needed and before the sun had set all was in readiness. The wife of the Physician was troubled for much of what her husband had requested was poisonous and deadly to the human body._

_The physician spoke: If my theory is correct the poisons can be curative provided they are used under exactly the right conditions. In this place where we stand I sense great energy. Perhaps it is the energy of the earth itself. This combined with the other agents will either cure young Runce or hasten his inevitable demise._

_The Salimbok came forth and implored the physician to accompany him to the shrine of Bisu who was the foremost deity of the people. The Physician protested that he was a man of science and had no belief in gods and would not worship them_

O-O-O

Once again, the narrative cut off mid-sentence. Mindy looked up at Bruce. "Bisu?" she asked. "Who the fuck was Bisu? I've head of most of the various pantheons of gods, from both my dad and at Filmore High, but I've not head that one."

Bruce didn't answer. He was looking at a photo of a typewritten page, probably inserted by Cavally. She glanced at it, taking in the contents.

O-O-O

_Bisu... dessert god. Not worshipped in the usual ways. More demon than god? Fitting for a harsh place? Living conditions shape local ideas of godhood? (Cf volkergedanken.)_

_Human sacrifice. Would answer some questions._

O-O-O

"Volkergedanken?" Bruce murmured. "Sounds German. I wonder what it means. Mindy, remind me to contact Gotham U in the morning."

She grinned. "Don't bother. It's German, Volkergedanken literally means 'Folk Ideas.' The term was coined by a German guy called..." she trailed off. "What was he fucking called. Now I remember. _Adolf Bastian_. He was a mythology expert and philanthropist. He believed that local myths, or in this case a deity could be altered by local conditions."

Bruce stared at her. "How do you know that?"

Mindy just shook her head. "It was one of the few non-combat or crime-fighting subjects Dad made me learn. For some reason he wanted me to learn something more normal."

Bruce wasn't entirely sure that it was normal for someone Mindy's age to know that. But then, Mindy wasn't exactly a normal eleven year old.

Warily, Bruce and Mindy resumed their reading. Whatever the Physician did about the worshipping, or not worshipping of Bisu obviously happened in the missing pages. The narrative, as expected, resumed mid-sentence:

O-O-O

_confess to a dislike of Runce as strong as yours, my wife. But he is a man and none who can be called so are blameless. And his father has been generous to us._

_In the tent the Physician made ready his preparations and commanded that Runce be lowered into the pit that seethed and boiled and made a horrible stench. Runce no longer gave breath and all who were present thought the Physician had failed. But with a terrible roar Runce rose up from the pit and his eyes were filled with madness and his gaze was cast upon the fair wife of the Physician. And he grasped her. The Physician tried to intervene but Runce was as strong as ten men and flung the Physician aside. And such was his embrace of Sora that her neck snapped and she was lifeless._

_The madness left the eyes of Runce and he called out to his father. Others who had hear the tumult had entered the tent and saw the lifeless form of Sora and the Salimbok lied to save his son from disgrace and blamed the death of Sora on the Physician._

O-O-O

They put the manuscript down. "Now that," Mindy stated bluntly, "was fucking biblical."

Bruce agreed. The two of them stood in unison and stretched. Bones cracked and popped; they'd been sitting for too long and they both the felt the need to be physical; they could finish the research later.

Bruce put the manuscript in a drawer and the two parted to get changed.

The met up again in the garden behind the house. Bruce was wearing a basic grey sweat suit, but she was kitted out in close fitting work out clothes; black pants with pink stripe and a grey tracksuit top. He couldn't see it, but he pretty sure she'd be wearing something pink or purple underneath – probably a tank top or t-shirt.

The both began with martial arts moves designed not only to hone combat skills, but also improve his overall conditioning. Minutes later, he was sweating, panting and feeling much better. Even as he continued his own moves, he watched Mindy make hers. It was surprising how similar they were to his with a kick here and jab there. Even the punches were almost identical. It was a clear night, and the moon provided all the light they needed.

A car passed the gate, almost a quarter mile away. It was going too fast down the narrow road. Both Bruce and Mindy stopped mid-motion as they spotted the headlights. If Bruce could see the car this clearly, then though the risk was low, there was still the possibility that the driver might have seen them executing their martial arts moves. The last thing he needed was for someone to recognise him as Bruce Wayne and that both he and Alfred's great-niece were Bruce Lee wannabes. Okay, no outdoor martial art's routines; even at night. Running though could still be done. Plenty people did it, even the most out-of-shape rich socialite tried it now and again and so wouldn't be seen as suspicious. "Let's run," he told Mindy. "If anyone sees, stop and rest your hands on your knees..."

Mindy grinned, then finished his thought. "... and pant, pretending to be exhausted."

They ran, Mindy letting Bruce take the lead since he knew the area around her that much better than she did. Out of the gate and to the left on the road all the way to the freeway ramp, two miles and a half miles to the south before turning back to the house.

Mindy could feel the air whipping past her hair as she stretched her legs. Muscles tensing then relaxing, moving smoothly and gracefully under the moon of the late summer night. This was something she'd been unable to do back in New York, even when her father had still been alive. It wasn't that she hadn't been able to run, it was just that it was limited to the fucking treadmill that she readily admitted made her feel like rodent in its wheel and making it spin. She'd frequently begged her father to go out for a run in the street, but as he'd stated numerous times, "there was too much risk of being recognised." And of course, she couldn't use Marcus's treadmill. He'd forbidden it wanting to distance her as much from Hit-Girl as possible. This was fucking freedom.

After a while, the rhythmic slap of their sneakers on asphalt became hypnotic, but they didn't let their attention completely relax. Both Mindy and Bruce had been taught that was dangerous. A lesson Mindy had learnt from her father and Bruce from Ducard: Always be alert – always. That however, didn't preclude them from enjoying the run.

The didn't meet anyone.

As they went upstairs to shower, Alfred called to the two. "Dinner in five minutes."

Five minutes later, the two were back downstairs. Mindy glanced up at him, taking in the chinos and sports shirt he was wearing. "Your hair's still wet."

"Yours is dry," Bruce stated taking in her blue jeans and pink sweater. "Hair dryer?" There was something different about her hair. It hit him a second later. "You're wearing your hair down."

"Of course," Mindy smiled, answering both his questions. "It's so much fucking quicker than towels. You really should try it, or is it too girlish for you."

"I heard that," Alfred stated as they entered the large dining room. Or rather Bruce entered. She froze in the doorway. Alfred was standing before her holding out an empty clear jar with a label stuck on the side denoting it as the _Swear Jar. $1 per word._

"You have got to be fucking shitting me," Mindy moaned reaching into her pocket to pull out the required dollar.

"That will be three dollars, young lady." Alfred was smiling.

"Fucking hell," Mindy reached in for another two dollars."

"That will be four dollars now."

Pulling two more dollars from her pocket, she put all five dollars in the jar. "Your going to need a fucking bigger jar."

As she finally sat at the table across from Bruce she looked up at him. His hand was covering his mouth. "Stop laughing. It's not fu... funny."

"Yeah," he took his hand away, revealing his grin. "It's very funny."

Alfred left the dining room, then returned a minute later a tray of food in each hand. "I'm afraid the pheasant is little overdone, and I couldn't get the good truffles..."

At the table, Mindy was struggling to keep a neutral expression on her face. To Bruce, it looked almost like she was trying not to gag. "It'll be wonderful," Bruce reassured Alfred as the two began to put the food in their mouths. "Delicious." Across the table Mindy mouthed to him. "I think I want to throw up. This must be what dinner at the D'Amico's was like."

"That compliment doesn't exactly seem sincere," Alfred said taking in their expressions. To Bruce, he said:"You sound like you got socks under the Christmas tree when you were expecting toys." He looked over at Mindy. "I learnt to lip read years ago when I used to do contract work for MI6."

Mindy wiped her lips with a napkin. "It's just..." Words failed her. "Bruce, help me. I can't say what I want to without swearing. And right now I don't want to."

"Alfred," Bruce stated, knowing what she was trying to say. "The food is truly wonderful and we do appreciate the effort you put into it. It's just that during my travels, I got used to fairly simple tastes. And Mindy, I think, is imagining her arteries getting all clogged up and hardening. To be honest right now, a bowl of rice and vegetables," he looked across at Mindy, "or Macaroni cheese would be as good to us as Fillet Mignon right now. We'd not leave the table feeling all slothful and weighed down."

"So only the simplest fare from now on? Alfred asked.

"Sure," Mindy told him. "Every so often give the cooker a good bit of exercise. But every meal doesn't need to feed the city. If I'm in the mood for something full of calories, it's usually pizza or hot chocolate." She actually managed to look apologetic. "Sorry... We don't want to sound bad."

"Or offend," Bruce added as they pushed away from the table.

"Offended," Alfred looked shocked at notion. "Hardly. It's more a relief. No more need to spend hours slaving over the stove. And when I'm not, I'm frequently at the market trying to find the best cuts and so on. Tomorrow night, I guarantee you'll have the best rice or Macaroni Cheese the city has to offer.

"We wouldn't expect any less."

A short while later, Bruce and Mindy returned to the study. Pulling the manuscript from the drawer Bruce had placed it in, the two resumed their self assigned studying. They heard Alfred leave by the side door and the Bentley start up. From the various hints Alfred had given them, they knew this was his night off; usually spent in Gotham City. "Where's he going at this time?" Mindy asked.

"If I remember correctly," Bruce said. "He's off to Cheers to meet _a friend_. They opened a bar in the city shortly before I left."

"What?" Mindy said, sounding surprised. "I thought it was just a TV show."

Bruce shook his head. "No. Cheers is a real bar. There used to be only the one in Boston, but after the TV program took off, the place became hugely popular and expanded into a fully fledged franchise. When I left seven years ago, there were at least a dozen of the bars all across the country." He looked down at the manuscript. "Now, where were we..."

O-O-O

_...The Salimbok lied to save his son from disgrace and blamed the death of Sora on the Physician._

_The Physician was confined until the Salimbok pronounced sentence upon him._

_Acting on advice from Runce the Salimbok commanded that the Physician be confined in a metal cage with the body of his dead wife and the cage be lowered into a pit in the desert sand. For three nights the physician suffered in silence. On the fourth night the man whose mother had fallen beneath the hooves of the horse slew the guard at the site of the grave of the Physician and drew forth the cage that imprisoned him. He gave the Physician cool water and bathed the wounds the Physician had suffered and together they escaped into the desert_

O-O-O

Here there were even more pages were missing, The final part was only a couple dozen words in length and a quick glance at the untranslated scrawl reminded her of the hand written confessions she'd made a few of her dying marks write. Like the previous passages, it began mid-sentence:

O-O-O

_who had once been known as the Physician rose howling from the pit with eyes filled with madness and when the madness had subsided Ra's al_

O-O-O

That was where it ended, again in mid-sentence. Though there were dozens of other pages, nothing more had been translated.

Bruce dropped the manuscript onto the coffee table. "So," he said, voicing his thoughts for Mindy's benefit, "Ra's al Ghul is the Physician?"

"Looks that way," Mindy agreed. "At least, that's what we're supposed to fucking believe." She paused, and put a smile on her face. "Is that another dollar in the swear jar?"

Bruce shook his head. "Alfred's not here and if I remember correctly, the swear jar only operates at dinnertime."

"And," Mindy asked, an evil light lit up in her eyes. "You know this because you and Alfred have been discussing my potty mouth." Her expression turned incredulous. "You used to swear, didn't you?"

Bruce suppressed a grin. "When I became a teenager, I had a lot of anger issues. I tended to swear a lot. You and me, are not that different." He paused thoughtfully, trying to think of a good example. "You know I'll never use a gun. I've told you that before. But," he asked thinking of how her father had been killed, "tell me something. Would you use fire as a weapon? Not that I'd let you ever kill anyone again."

Mindy had to shake her head. "No, it's a barbaric way to die. And the smell; fucking vomit inducing. Which, after I finally cut Dave free in that warehouse is what we promptly did; as much as I wanted call him a pussy for throwing up, I couldn't. When I'm old and eventually die, there is no fucking way I'm getting cremated." She paused then indicated the manuscript. "There's no fucking way he's made himself immortal by dunking himself in noxious chemicals and is a healthy four hundred years old. Me and Dad killed Francisco Castiglione, one of Frank D'Amico's guys, by doing that. I think it's a title, like Prince Andrew is the Duke of York."

Bruce shuddered inwardly. "But I watched Ra's al Ghul die in the monastery."

Mindy laughed mirthlessly. "Oh I'm sure he was a real guy four hundred years ago, and I'd say the events in that manuscript did take place. It's just that they didn't quite happen the way it claims. Just like that book," Mindy stood up and picked up the Bible that was sitting atop the fire place, "is a peace of fiction; probably based on some real events and people, but still a peace of fiction."

"Are you suggesting we might see someone else take up Ra's al Ghul's mantle?"

Mindy nodded. "I'm pretty sure that's what the last Ra's al Ghul intended for you." She put the Bible back down and retook her place on the couch. She frowned. "I'll make you a bet," the evil glint of light was back in her eyes. "If I'm right and a new Ra's al Ghul pops up then you give me one quarter of Wayne Enterprises shares; I did hear correctly that Mister Earle was taking the company public."

Bruce nodded. "And if you're wrong then you never utter another swear word in this house again."

"And," Mindy finished. "I'll donate the three million dollars in my suitcase upstairs to the NYPD retirement fund."

"What three million dollars?" Bruce suddenly asked.

"The money me and my dad took from Frank D'Amico's organisation."

"It's not safe up there," Bruce told her. "As raw cash it'll slowly loose value over time. Instead of putting it towards the NYPD retirement fund, invest it. I'll change the bet so that if you lose you use it to purchase Wayne Enterprises shares. Three million won't buy many given the value of the shares, but it would make you a minority owner of Wayne Enterprises."

"Deal," she nodded.

"In the meantime," Bruce told her. "I'll have Alfred put it in the bank account he's opening for you tomorrow."

"I thought opening a bank account with several million dollars was generally regarded as suspicious," Mindy said.

Bruce smiled. "For most people, it would be," He indicated their surroundings. "But take a look around. You see where you are living. With an address like this one, they'd be more suspicious if you were to open a bank account with a small amount. They'd be asking 'Why so little?'"

Mindy shook her head. _The joys of living in a multi-billionaires home_.

Bruce stood and began to think. _Let's start with what we know now. The League exits, unless I've been having a massive delusion for these past few years; which I haven't. It seems to surface at times great social upheaval. What else?_ He mentally asked himself. _What did the League want with me? Was it as Mindy suggested an attempt to groom me into becoming the next Ra's al Ghul. Or, is Ra's al Ghul truly immortal._ They were interesting questions. He just wished he actually had some interesting answers to go with them. _Oh well. At least we know more than we did two days ago. For that, Mindy and I owed the nice librarian at Gotham U._

Crossing the room, he went to his father's old oak desk in the corner and opened up the top drawer and pulled out a cheque book. "What are you doing?" Mindy asked.

"Writing a cheque," he stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He wrote it out to Gotham University, filled in a number then hesitated before adding an extra zero. After that he began addressing an envelope.

"Don't you need to be _alive_ to do that?"

_Damn_, she was right. He would have to wait until he was legally among the living before he sent it. He dated the cheque for two days time. Well there wasn't much more he could do dead. The surveillance he could do with help from Mindy and he sure as hell wasn't going to find out anything more than he already had about Ra's al Ghul.

"We'll have to do something about that, won't we?" Bruce said. "I guess it's time to catch up with some old friends."

"Fuck, yeah." Glancing over to where she was seated on the couch, she mimed throwing a shaken at the wall. He guessed that she was imagining it going through the CEOs head.

O-O-O

Sitting up in bed, Mindy was surfing the net on her QMacbook, looking up Wayne Enterprises out of curiosity just to see what kind of business they were. It seamed as though they were into a bit of everything. Telecommunications, biomedical research, aeronautical engineering; even heavy weapons manufacturing. Somehow, she doubted Bruce would approve of the last one. Touching her track-pad, Mindy moved her mouse over a link.

She never clicked it as a Skype window came up with a video chat request from Dave. _Finally! _She clicked the accept button and she saw his bespectacled face appear on her screen. "What's up? You at the safe-house, Dave?" Behind him on the walls, she could see a number of her old guns.

"_Yup,_" he confirmed. "_I'm just setting up a very belated birthday surprise for a certain purple-clad and bō staff welding superhero I know._"

_Something happened_, Mindy thought. _He's too upbeat sounding, and he never starts a conversation by mentioning my alter-ego. _She put a grin on her face. "Dave, my birthday was two months ago."

"_Well,_" Dave held his hands up in mock surrender. "_I didn't know your birthday was two months ago. I mean I only just found out from Marcus..._"

"Don't apologise," she told him. "I didn't know you well enough to tell you it was my birthday back then. I barely knew you well enough to accept the help in taking down D'Amico." She checked the time on her laptop. "And, in any case, it's _my turn_ to wish you a Happy Birthday. I'd sing the song, but I can't sing. And, I'm not sure I'd want to, even if I could; you get the presents I ordered for you? You better not have opened them."

"_Yeah I did and no I haven't..._" Dave's voice trailed off. "_Wait. How the fuck did you know it's my birthday. I know I never told you._"

"Background check, Dumbass." Mindy grinned. "It was the first thing my Dad did after we got your IP address."

"_Stupid question,_" Dave acknowledged. "_And FYI you can sing. You've got a beautiful voice. That rendition you did of Alice Cooper's 'Ballad of Dwight Fry' when you stayed at my place for those two days was amazing._"

Her cheeks felt suddenly very hot. _Fuck!_ What was wrong with her. Her entire body felt like it was on fire. She mentally swore. If she hadn't been talking with Dave, she'd be stripping off just to try and cool down. On the screen, Dave was smiling and clearly enjoying her reaction to his compliment. "You heard that?"

Dave nodded. "_Nice blush you got going there._" Mindy felt herself get even hotter. If he'd been in the same room, she'd most likely have thrown one of Alfred's beloved pillows at him.

"Dave..." Mindy growled. "I'm warning you..."

"_And what can you do from a hundred and fifty miles away?_" Dave asked with a smirk on his face that he could only have learnt from herself.

"Oh, I don't know," Mindy smirked back at him. "Set of the safe-house's remote auto destruct system." It was, Mindy thought, worth it to see him scoot back from the camera and give her a good look at him. He was topless.

_Oh My Fucking God!_ He wasn't thin and lanky any more. if anything, he actually was starting to develop some serious muscle and was well on the way to getting some nice abs and a six pack. He'd never be an Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, but if he maintained the training regimen she'd designed for him, then he'd at least be a Daniel Craig. She'd never admit it, but she had seen his Bond film. She sighed contentedly. _I could stare at him for hours._ Her train of thought stopped dead. _Where the fuck did that thought come from? _The panicked expression on his face was priceless though, so she tapped the print screen button to save the image.

"I'm kidding,"Mindy told him, noting that the smaller of the two presents were in his right hand. "There's no such thing."

He returned to the screen. "_Jesus Christ! Mindy. Don't do that. You almost gave me a heart attack._"

She grinned. That was Dave through and through. "With that body, I doubt it." Now it was his turn to blush.

"_I only have it thanks to you._"

Mindy nodded. "Don't fucking lose it." She let her expression become more relaxed and friendly. "Now, open your first present."

She bit her lip nervously, hoping he'd like it, since it was something he definitely needed. On the screen, Dave tore open the cardboard delivery packaging to disclose a slightly smaller package that was wrapped in purple and pink wrapping paper; Hit-Girl's signature colours. She knew it wasn't marked with gift tags identifying who the gift was for and from. It wasn't necessary, and would have blown their covers. He ripped off the wrapping paper.

"_Oh wow,_" Dave said as he held up the box of Wiley X PT-1 Shooting Glasses. "_Shooting glasses._" He opened up the box and replaced his normal glasses with the ones from the box. Dave blinked. "_Prescription shooting glasses._"

"Yep," Mindy said, the relief evident in her face and voice. "They're customised. I figured out why you couldn't make the jump on the 'Spiderman Roof' or above Rasul's place. It wasn't that you lacked the ability or will to jump; it was your your eyes. Your short sightedness was keeping you from focusing on where you wanted to land so your brain automatically hit the brakes. Now you should lack that hindrance." She took a breath before continuing. "The lenses are abrasion-proof and have a photosensitive coating so that they'd go dark if you were ever unlucky enough to have a flash-bang go off in your face. They wouldn't protect you from the bang, but..."

"_...they'd allow me to still see what I was doing. Cool._"

"You should still look into laser eye surgery, you know. Now," Mindy went serious for a moment. "Before you open your main present, I've got a pop quiz question. Ready."

"_Okay,_" Dave said nervously. Mindy could see his eyes working, hoping he'd studied the correct questions and that she wouldn't ask a John Woo question.

"A handgun bullet travels at what velocity?"

"_Seven hundred miles per hour._"

"Correct," Mindy smiled. "Now you're cleared to open your main present."

Dave did so, and smiled. "_Nice. Eskrima Sticks. Now I can retire my old steel pipes wrapped in green tape._"

Mindy grinned. "I had Q make them to order. Just as your old sticks weren't exactly standard, neither are these."

"_Yeah,_" Dave said holding up the box. Inside Mindy could see an extra stick with an attached shoulder strap, a short chain and garrotte wire. The ends of both the chain and wire, as well as the stick were attached to silver screw caps. "_I see that._"

"As I said," Mindy stated. "Highly customisable. You can turn the sticks into nunchucks, a garrotte capable of decapitation, or even a bō staff like mine."

Dave shook his head. "_Not like yours. These don't have blades._"

Mindy smiled. "You might want to step back into the centre of the room." Dave did so, taking some practice strikes with the sticks. She sighed again as she watched his muscles ripple. "Now did you see the button on the hand-grip of each stick?"

"_Yeah,_" Dave said very slowly with a nod.

Mindy grinned. She was going to enjoy this. "Press the buttons."

He did. The was none of the typical metallic ringing noise you typically heard in Hollywood movies when somebody drew a sword. Instead, there was only a very slight hissing sound as a gleaming, spring-loaded, metal blade was released from each stick. Each blade, Mindy knew, was five sixths the length of each stick; about the same length as the blades on her own bō staff. He did some more swings. "_Say, how do you put them away?_"

"Just press the button again." Mindy watched as the blades disappeared into the stick with another soft and barely audible hiss. "Now that's just cool. So, you like them?"

"_LIKE them,_" Dave just looked at her incredulously as he returned to the computer. "_I fucking love them! It's like I'm Daredevil._"

Mindy smiled again. She dropped it a moment later. "Good, cause without me by your side your going to need them."

"_Probably_, _I know I could do with you by my side tonight._" Dave's face fell. "_Hell, I miss you._" He paused. "_We all miss you. It's just not the same without you there._"

"Awe," Mindy said, feeling a little warm inside at the thought that it wasn't just Dave who missed her. "How are Todd and Marty. Is Todd still trying to be a wannabe peado, crushing on my alter-ego?"

"_Mindy,_" Dave began, his expression turned downcast. _Here it comes, the reason for his false cheer._ "_Todd is dead. He tried putting on a cape_."

_Nice one, Mindy! _In her head, she pictured herself on a stage receiving an award._'And, the Oscar for Most Ill-timed Expression of Wit goes to Miss Melinda Macready.' _She slumped back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Dave waved it off. Somehow she didn't think he'd do that for anyone else. "_Don't be. You couldn't have known._"

"I should have," Mindy shot back. "Don't think I didn't fucking notice the false cheer when you started the chat. Now tell me. Do you know what happened? Have you spoken to Marcus?" Absently, she heard the sound of Alfred's Bentley coming up the drive, crushing the gravel beneath its tires.

Dave told her.

"Animal!" Mindy growled, her voice unconsciously taking on the nuances and tone of her alter-ego. In a second window, was a YouTube vido the sick psycho had made. "You find this cocksucker, kill him," she paused. "I know you don't like killing and Bruce would certainly disapprove. But this Oiink Oiink motherfucker needs to be put down. And when you do," Mindy could feel the heat rise in her face. She knew she looked absolutely livid with rage and didn't care that Dave could see it either, "you skin him – just like he skinned Todd – and put his severed pig-headed face on a stick as a warning to all the cunt sucking psychos out there."

Dave looked back at her. He wasn't blinking. "_That is the plan," _Dave's face looked very dark. "_Katie told me the same thing. Fuck! Marcus did too. I think he'd have let Hit-Girl out the cage for this one._"

"You do that," Mindy told him, watching him pull up the Kick-Ass suit. You've got my gifts and entire arsenal at your disposal." There was a soft knocking on her door. "Good hunting."

On the screen, Dave pulled on his mask. "_Night, Mindy._"

"Night." Putting the QMacbook aside, she looked up and took a deep breath. "You can come in, Alfred."

O-O-O

A/N:- The manuscript entries are lifted from the Batman Begins novelization.


End file.
